


Deadly Savior

by Nevermore_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Inspired by a smutty novella, Marriage of Convenience, Sexual Content, outlaw Sandor, set in late 1890s, unlikely heros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the late 1890s, Sansa Stark is running from her home after her husband-to-be murders her parents. With no money, no family left, and in dire need of a place to hide, she finds a savior in the most unlikely of places. A jailhouse. </p><p>Sandor Clegane has lived the life of an outlaw, but his life of crime has finally caught up to him, and in his home town of all places. A date with death coming at sunrise, and a desperate little bird in need of help, he decides he can manage one good deed before he takes that long walk to the gallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa ran through the night, unaware of which direction she was headed but knowing she needed to get as far away from her parents house as she could. Far away from it and the death inside. Tears blurred her vision as she ran, the fear rushing through her veins turning her blood cold. There'd been so much blood. So much. She tried not to picture her fathers face after the bullet had torn through his head. Tried not to remember the sounds of her mothers screams before she'd met the same fate. All while Sansa hid in the locked closet. All at the hands of her fiancé.

She made it clear of the trees that surrounded her families estate when a hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her to a stop. A blood curdling scream tore from her throat before a large hand clamped over her mouth. When she was spun around, it wasn't the haunting green eyes and golden hair of her sadistic husband to be she was expecting but the familiar and welcomed face of Mr. Cassel, a worker and close friend of her fathers.

"Oh, Jory!" Sansa flung herself at him, and he held her tightly for a brief moment.

"You must get out of here, Miss." he whispered quickly, holding her at arms length. "I can get you to the train station. You take the first train you can and get the hell out of here, Miss, you understand?" Sansa nodded and let Jory pull her to his waiting mount. He rode hard and fast to the next town and the waiting train. He waited until she was safely ensconced on one of the cars bound for Kansas. It didn't matter where she went, Jory had said, as long as she got out of Missouri. He gave her what little money he had and wished her luck.

The reality of her situation didn't set in until the train stopped in Dodge City. She was a woman alone, with very little money and a man that wanted to kill her sure to be following her. She wanted to jump on another train to get even further from Missouri but the amount of money she had wouldn't let her. With no other options, she walked. By the time she reached the little cowtown of Bilson, she was filthy, tired, and wanted nothing more then a bed and a bath. Not to mention food. But the weeks it had taken her to get there, and the one coach ride she'd spent for, had left her funds depleted.

Walking the town, she fought the urge to cry and scream for someone to help her. But she didn't want anyone to know her name. Didn't want to let word of where she was somehow get back to Joffrey. As early morning gave way to late afternoon, Sansa was desperate. All inquiries of jobs or credit with the merchant had turned up as resounding no's. The merchant had told her to check with the saloon, that a girl as pretty as her could get a job easy there making money hand over fist in the rooms upstairs. At the time Sansa had blanched at the thought of being a whore. Her honor and her propriety began to wane at the thought of another night spent sleeping outside with no food in her belly. Standing outside the saloon, Sansa promised herself she'd do it just this once. Just once, enough to afford a place to sleep and some food. After that she could move on to a bigger town, maybe find a husband so she had a name to hide behind.

Lifting her chin, she stepped inside the saloon, the noise of drunk men and tittering whores drowning out the piano playing in the corner. Glancing up at the balcony above her, she seen a few girls wearing nothing but robes loosly tied over shifts or corsets. Sansa had sold her corset. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she glanced about the room, finding several men already looking at her. _It's just once_. She reminded herself. _You are not a whore_. She repeated the litany over and over in her head, although she knew it wasn't true. If she went through with this, then she would be a whore. Just like the scantly clad woman moving about the room and sitting on a few of the mens laps. Unease lodging in her throat, momentarily blocking out the clawing hunger in her belly, she scanned the room again as she slowly stepped further inside. Her gaze was inexpleciably drawn to the table at the back corner, her eyes locking with ones that were steel gray. The man watching her was cast in shadow and smoke but the intensity of his somehow wild gaze had a tremor running up her spine.

She couldn't do this.

Turning on her heel, she made for the door only to come up short when a hand enclosed her forearm. Spinning around, she came face to face with a short, squat man with thick fingers and a balding head. He turned his head and a stream of tobacco blackened spit flew from his mouth.

"You sure are a pretty little thing." he used his free hand to wipe the spittle off his chin. "How much for a romp, sweet thang?"

"Nothing. I mean, I'm not..." Sansa stuttered, pulling her arm from his grasp, only to have his hand tighten. "Unhand me, please. I'd like to leave this establishment." She lifted her chin, tried for a haughty tone that she'd heard others in the upper class use. One she'd been accused of using before.

"You ain't no whore?" he asked, his eyes skimming her body making Sansa gag.

"No, sir, I am not." Sansa managed to free herself then, tears threatening to spill over. "Good evening."

"I'd still pay ya." the man called after her, to which his table of friends laughed loudly. Sansa ignored them and fled the bar room. It was another cold night spent behind the grocer, where she managed to find some tarps to cover with. She awoke early the next morning, before the sun was fully up, her empty stomach begging her for something. Wrapping an arm around her aching belly, she made for the stream she'd seen on her way into town and washed her face and fixed her hair as best as she could. The water did nothing to fill her belly, though, and when she went back into town it was the grocer setting out fresh fruit that drew her. An apple. Just one. Her mouth watered at the thought of the crisp, juicy fruit. Trying for casual, she strode by the stand and snatched one without looking at the display, quickly pocketing it. It was so easy and had gone so smoothly she tried for a pear. That was her downfall. The woman setting up the stand caught her, the stout older lady seizing Sansa's arm before she could run. The sheriff was called and Sansa soon found herself in the jail house. Not bothering with trying not to cry any longer, she let the tears come as she pleaded with the sheriff. So she broke down and told the man her story, of how she'd become engaged to the handsome and polished Joffrey Lannister, how later she'd found out that he was cruel and sadistic and only wanted her fathers estate and the sprawling ranch on which they lived. She told him how she broke the engagment when he struck her, and how he became livid and attacked her. How her father and come home at that time and sent him off with the promise of social ruin. She told him how Joffrey had come back late that night and how Jory had hid her in the closet while her father argued with the boy. How that arguement had ended. She wept as she told him how she'd gotten on the train, and how she'd ended up in his town, alone, destitute and starving.

"Christ." the sheriff let out a breath when she was done.

"Please, Sheriff Umber, I don't know what to do."

"I've got an idea." Sansa jumped at the new voice, raspy and sharp as it was.

"Shut up in there, Clegane." Sheriff Umber snapped. "The girls got enough trouble without your help."

"Might be her savin' grace, Sheriff."

"Ignore him, Miss." the sheriff told her, giving the man a stern look. But Sansa turned and faced the man in the cell anyway. He stood leaning against the bars, far taller than any man she'd ever seen before, even the massive sheriff. His dark hair hung nearly to his shoulders, half of which attempted to cover the burn scars that ravaged one side of his face. But it was his eyes that drew her. The same wild grey eyes from the saloon last night.

"Who are you?" she asked softly.

"Names Sandor Clegane." he tipped his head to her in greeting. The name rang a bell. Of course it did. Everyone knew of the infamous outlaw Sandor Clegane, a man everyone called The Hound. He was a robber and a murderer, wanted in both Kansas and Missouri.

"What's your idea?" she stepped towards the bars, unsure what drew her.

"Just a dead man rantin', miss." The sheriff said. "Ignore him, like I said. He'll be hangin' from the noose come mornin'." Sansa gasped, struggling to comprehend that the huge, intimidating and deadly man before her would be dead in just a handful of hours.

"Can't hurt to hear a dead mans last idea." he shrugged, as if he didn't care either way. "Might be my one good deed before I die."

"Go on then." Sansa ignored the sheriffs attempts to silence him any more and listened to a condemned mans last words.

That's how she found herself in the local church, standing before a half asleep preacher with a complete stranger standing next to her.

"What's your name?" he'd asked her as the ceremony started. Sansa laughed, a little hysterically. Here she was, fixing to marry this man, and he was asking her for her name.

"It's Sansa." she answered him. "Sansa Stark."

"Clegane, little bird." he took her hand in his huge one and gave it a gentle squeeze. "My name to hide behind, remember?" The ceremony was short and to the point. Sheriff Umber had gotten the needed paperwork to make it legal and Sandor even signed the deed to his house over to her, Sansa Clegane. It wasn't much, he'd told her, just a small cottage in the woods outside Bilson. Secluded and out of the way. A perfect place to hide. A place he would no longer need come morning, because he was going to die.

What came next was completely Sansa's idea. Sandor had told her it wasn't necessary, and that he didn't expect her to consummate a marriage that was of convenience. One she had come to out of sheer desperation. But Sansa wanted it. Sure, Sandor was big and scary and sort of hideous with his scars and harsh face and steely eyes. But she wanted to know in her heart that it was a real marriage, and that she'd given him something, even if it didn't seem like much to Sansa, in return for his kindness to a complete stranger. Sheriff Umber arranged for a room above the saloon, where he'd stand guard until morning when he'd take Sandor to the gallows.

"No need to be scared, girl." Sandor told her once they were enclosed in the room together.

"I'm not." she lied and he laughed, a harsh sound that made Sansa jump.

"Sure." he obviously didn't believe her, for good reason, but he approached her slowly, his big fingers coming up to undo the laces of her dress. Sansa stood completely still as the fabric slid off her body and pooled at her feet.

"I had to sell my corset." her nerves had her blabbering once she was down to her shift.

"Don't need one." his voice had gone deeper as his hands settled on her waist, just above the flare of her hips. "Your waist is what corsets were made to give other women." Without much more fanfare, he lifted the shift from her body and tossed it in the direction of the door. A low rumble came from his chest as he took a step closer too her and wrapped an arm around her hips. Sansa squeaked when he lifted her, then gasped when his lips enclosed her nipple and his tongue teased the peak. It felt odd, having a man sucking on her there, but Sandor seemed to enjoy it, so she said nothing.

When he laid her down on the bed and followed her, only removing his boots, he went right back to her breasts, this time involving his hands and his teeth. What had felt odd at first gave way to feeling good. Each tug or nip seemed to pull something tight in her lower belly, made her achy between her thighs.

This wasn't what she'd imagined her wedding night would be like. She'd always imagined a handsome young man from a powerful family. She'd thought there would be flowers and champagne in a room at a luxury hotel, or maybe in their new shared bedroom in his home. Instead she got a terrifying and well known killer in a room rented by the hour. This man, this outlaw, a stranger who was now her husband, was doing wicked things to her body that she'd never imagined a man would do to a woman. His hands were all over her body, removing her undershorts, his large, calloused finger touching gently between her thighs.

"You like this, little bird?" he asked, his finger sliding through her folds. Sansa couldn't find her breath, or her voice, so she nodded. It wasn't awful, what he was doing, but she wasn't actually sure she liked it. It was intense and a little confusing, but it wasn't bad.

"You're wet here." he groaned as he sank just the tip of his finger inside of her, causing Sansa to gasp and flinch. When she flushed at his words and looked away he chuckled. "That's a good thing. It'll make this easier." Pushing her thighs further apart, he settled on his knees between them, still fully clothed, with his hand between her legs.

"Christ, girl, you're somethin' else to look at." Sansa flushed even more at his words, at the intensity of his gaze all along her body.

"I'm sorry." she managed to force out between pants. "I'm not usually so thin." She could feel how her hips bones stuck out, could see each and every rib of her rib cage as she breathed.

"Don't apologize for that." he snapped, far harsher then she'd expected. "Don't ever apologize for bein' hungry. Not to me. I know what that's like, girl. And there isn't a damn thing wrong with how you look." Sansa swallowed and met his gaze before nodding. She didn't know much of the man above her, of his past or of his life in general, but she could see the honesty in his gaze and knew he spoke true. Maybe it was a harsh life that had turned him so harsh. Look what it had done to her in such a short time. Turning her into a thief and even contemplating becoming a whore.

"Just feel." he murmered, leaning forward to kiss her rapid pulse, along her collar bone, her shoulder, the side of her neck, his tongue gliding between her breasts. All the while his hand worked between her legs, his finger going deeper as he slowly worked it in and out while his thumb worked in tight circles around a point of her center that seemed to shoot sensation throughout her entire body. The more he touched her, the longer his fingers worked her over, the hotter her body became, the harder it was to breath, and the tighter some sort of cord inside of her was strung. So lost in the sensations rushing through her she didn't see him undo his pants but suddenly he was there, the blunt head of his manhood pressed against her opening.

"Stop me if you want." he growled and when Sansa looked up at him, she could see the tension with which he held himself, his entire body tight with it.

"Do it." she whispered, unable to manage much more.

"Best to do it quick." he seemed to be speaking more to himself then her. "You're wet and warmed up, but it's still gonna hurt." Sansa nodded, just wanting him to get it over with already. Sinking down further on top of her, he braced an forearm beside her head, his still clothed chest brushing up against hers as he reached between them, presumably to guide himself. A second later he surged forward and Sansa opened her mouth to scream with the shock and pain of it, but nothing came out. He'd stollen her breath.

"Fuckin' hell." he groaned, but held himself still, his face bowed into her shoulder. When her breath finally broke through, it came out as a sob and she realized she was gripping the sheets beneath her so hard her nails were pressing through the cloth to bite into her palms.

"Won't always hurt." his voice was barely above a growl as he lifted his head from her shoulder and met her eyes. "You alright?" Sansa was gaping like a fish out of water, but she nodded.

"You, my little wife, are a horrible liar." he chuckled tightly as he lifted himself up from her a little, which caused him to press even further inside of her and she gapsed. Her body was on fire, feeling stretched past it's limits but the stinging was becoming tolerable.

"Relax into it." he told her, the hand he wasn't holding himself up with returning to between her thighs, his fingers finding that one part of her body that he'd found earlier. He seemed to know it was there, and knew what it was, so Sansa assumed it was something most women shared. She thought to be jealous for a moment, but quickly dismissed that. She was mearly glad he seemed to know what he was doing.

"That's it." he sighed as her body relaxed, that cord of tension tightening again in her lower belly. Her body lifted, felt like it was reaching for something that Sansa wasn't aware of. But she wanted it. The tighter he wound her up, the faster her heart raced, the harder her heart hammered. Noises were starting to come out of her mouth that she couldn't quite stop. Sandor leaned even closer to her, what looked to be a grin pulling up the unburnt corner of his mouth.

"Something to remember me by." he whispered and he pushed harder on that amazing spot as he pushed further into her and the cord snapped and her body flew. Or it felt like it had, anyway. A wave of pleasure so keen it was nearly painful rushed over her body, heat and sensation flooding her limbs and her mind and she moaned with it. As she came back to herself, she heard Sandor curse above her and suddenly he was gone from her body. She glanced down between their bodies and watched as his hand pulled at his manhood with fast, short strokes and then a ragged moan tore from his throat as white fluid shot from the head of his member, the warm fluid landing on the inside of her thigh and cooling quickly. She gasped when it happened, flushed so hot her ears burnt when she realized what had happened.

"May be a dog," he panted. "but I ain't that fuckin' selfish."

It wasn't until several weeks had passed and she bled once again that she realized what he'd been talking about. He'd pulled himself out to spill his seed so he didn't get her with child. Because the following morning he'd left with the sheriff to go to his death. Sansa couldn't go to the hanging, although it wasn't a public exicution. She was his wife now and therefore she was allowed to go. But she couldn't watch the man who'd so quickly become her husband and her unlikely savior hang from the end of a rope. She'd seen enough death to last her the rest of her life.

Sheriff Umber had sent one of his deputies to take her out to the Clegane cottage after pulling Sandor's horse from the stables. He was a big black beast, surly in nature but gentle and kind to Sansa. Much like his master, or former master. At the cottage, Sansa had found the barn as Sandor had told her was there, complete with buckboard and stall for the horse. Umber had agreed to let her keep the monies Sandor had on him, which was quite a lot since he'd been gambling, and winning, at the saloon before the fight broke out that led to his arrest, and ultimately his hanging. But Sandor had told her in the night of a spot beneath the oak that set to the north of the cottage and what was hidden beneath the earth there. It was enough that Sansa could live comfortably for a long while. She'd felt guilty about taking it, for some reason, so she used only what she had to to afford a couple new dresses, and a corset, and a new pair of boots. After that she'd bought a few chickens from a farmer to keep for eggs that she sold at the market on Sunday afternoon after church services.

Three months after moving to Bilson, graced with her new name, she got a job with the tailor doing stitch work and the occasional embroidering. It wasn't a full time job, and one that she mostly did from home, but it was enough to keep food in her belly and Sandor's money mostly untouched, now stashed beneath his mattress.

It was over six months since she'd come there, and she was settling in just fine. She had the sewing to keep her busy as well as a few friends she'd made at church services. The town had been hesitant to accept her at first, being the widowed wife of a notorious outlaw, but soon she was taken to with friendly hello's and kind smiles. Everything was going well, working out far better than Sansa could have ever hoped.

It was a Friday evening when things changed.

She was sitting in the chair near the window for the best light, carefully adding a hem to one of the deputies uniform pants when the back door opened. Jumping up, Sansa jabbed her finger with the needle, blood welling up on the pad, but she ignored it. Spinning around, she came face to face with a man she'd never thought to see again. For a long, tense moment, neither one of them spoke or moved. Sansa was certain she was dreaming and that she'd awake any moment. It wasn't the first time he'd come to her in her dreams, although he was never this dirty or this haggard looking in them. And the smell. She never smelt things in her dreams, but she could smell him. Dirt and sweat and manure. It was strong and it was horrible.

"Easy now, little bird." that long ago familiar voice was what convinced her she wasn't dreaming. She'd never gotten that steel on stone sound right in her dreams. "Look like ya seen a ghost."


	2. Chapter 2

For the longest time neither of them said anything. Sansa was certain, however, that he was real. He wasn't a dream or an apparition. Her husband stood before her, in the living flesh. His hair was longer than it had been, the dark strands hung about his shoulders in tangled messes matted with mud and heavens knew what else. A scraggly beard covered his face, except where it wouldn't grow over his scars. The hat he wore over it was stained white in places from the salt of his sweat. His clothing were filthy and threadbare, far beyond hope of repair. The intense grey eyes she remembered from their wedding night were bloodshot and sunken, rimmed with dark circles. He looked exhausted and smelled to high heaven.

"How?" she finally found her voice, asking the question foremost on her mind.

"Long story." he braced a hand on the chair she'd just vacated and started kicking his mud encrusted boots off. "Too fuckin' tired to explain much. I need food and I need a bath. Maybe sleep for a week." his eyes came back to meet hers. "You got somethin' ready for supper?"

"Of course." Sansa nodded, quickly moving into the kitchen where she had a pot of stew over the fire. He followed behind her, dropping heavily into one of the two chairs at the table. Filling a bowl she sat it and a spoon in front of him before cutting him off a slice of bread she'd made earlier that day. Once she'd sat it and a glass of milk next to him, she sat in the chair opposite him and watched him inhale the food. Once he'd finished the stew and used the bread to mop up what was left, he downed half the glass of milk before finally meeting her questioning gaze.

"Reckon you wanna know why I'm sittin' here breathin'." he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach absently. "Short version. Got me a last minute deal. Been searchin' for the Frey gang these past six months. Found them. Now I'm home."

"But, the sheriff..."

"He's the one who gave me the deal." he finished off the milk. "His sisters boy was kidnapped by the gang. He knew I can damn near track anything or anyone, so he gave me a deal. I find the boy, I get a clean slate." he pushed back the chair, the scraping noise causing Sansa to jump. "Need me a bath now. Then I'm goin' to bed."

"The tub is in the barn." she followed him to stand numbly as she tried to process what he'd told her. "I'll start heating up the water while you go fetch it."

"Don't bother. I'll bathe out there. Don't wanna wait for the water to heat." With that, he turned and went into the sitting room to pull his boots back on.

"Guess these clothes will have to work for tonight." he said while pulling them on. "Buy more when we go to town tomorrow. Don't think I'd look near as pretty in them dresses as you do." he glanced up then with what Sansa thought was a grin. A bubble of laughter escaped her, but whether she was laughing at his words or the fact that this terrifying man had made a joke, she wasn't certain.

"Your clothes are still in the closet." she told him and he slowly lifted his head, his one brow lifting.

"Why?" Sansa hesitated, unsure how to explain it to him when it didn't make sense even to her. How to tell him that she felt less alone in this world with his clothing in the closet and drawers next to her own.

"They weren't mine to get rid of." she finally said. "None of this is mine. It's all yours." He pushed up off the chair with a grunt.

"Them flowers ain't mine." he tipped his head to the pitcher of wildflowers next to the window and Sansa smiled.

"Well, no. Except for the flowers."

"And these." he lifted the deputies pants he'd been sitting on, the ones she'd been working on when he'd come in. "These for damn sure ain't mine." Sansa looked from the pants to her husbands eyes and the hardness in them stole her breath.

"I, uh, no." she shook her head. "Those are deputy Martell's. His wife, Ellaria, just gave birth to twins. With her hands so full, I've been doing some of the sewing for her." Sandor dropped the pants, the hardness in his gaze ebbing some. Without a word, he strode into her, or his, bedroom and came out shortly with his arms full of clothes before leaving for the barn. Once he was gone, Sansa let out a ragged breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Needing something to do with her shaking hands, she went to the kitchen and cleaned up his dishes and put them away. Once she was done, she paced in front of the table until the door opened again and Sandor returned. He smelled better, at least, although now that his hair was wet it hung down to his shoulder blades and he still looked dog tired and still needed a shave.

"Piss tired, little bird." he mumbled, scratching his beard. "Didn't wanna risk slittin' my own throat fallin' asleep while shavin'."

"You should get to bed, then." she said quickly. "So should I, I suppose. I need to get to the train station fairly early, and I still need to pack..."

"What for?" he snapped, cutting her off.

"Well, you're back." she shrugged. "Surely you'll want your home back now."

"House is in your name last I checked." he reminded her. "And what does my bein' back have to do with you leavin'? If I remember correctly, there was somethin' in them vows 'bout 'til death do us part."

"That was only supposed to be until morning." she whispered, staring at the wooden planks on the floor and wringing her hands.

"Yeah, well, I'm alive." he sighed. "And I don't say nothin' I don't mean. But I ain't partial to forcin' ladies to do anything so if you want out of this marriage, you just let me know. For now, though, I'm done listenin' to your chirpin'. We'll talk come mornin'." Sansa nodded, not knowing what else to say. And then it hit her. Did he expect her to sleep in the same bed as him? Was he interested in a repeat of what had happened between them on their wedding night? And, oh good Lord, was she?

"Stop your worryin', girl." he chuckled. "I'll sleep on the cot in the pantry for now. I ain't gonna ask you for nothin' tonight. Might be we need to get used to havin' one another around, if you decide you want to stay married." Leaving him to set up the cot in the pantry, she went to fetch the blanket from the foot of the bed. Holding it in trembling hands, she carried it back to him.

"This feels wrong." she said once he took it from her. "It's your bed, you should sleep in it." Ignoring her comment, he lifted the blanket to his nose and inhaled.

"Smells like you." he said before shaking it out. "Night, little bird."

"Good night, Mr. Clegane." Sansa backed out of the pantry.

"Names Sandor, girl." he called after her.

Laying on the bed, Sansa stared up at the ceiling trying to sort out her emotions. She wasn't sure if she was ecstatic or horrified that Sandor was back. She didn't know him at all, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't missed him over the last half year. Not him, persay, since she didn't know him, but he'd awoken something in her that she hadn't been aware of before. A deep, throbbing want and hunger that left her hot and achy. An ache that she'd seen to countless times since he'd been gone, always with the memory of him in her mind. Oddly enough, it wasn't so much his actions that inspired her desire, but his words and his kindness, and it was always to the memory of his voice that helped her find release. And now he was here in his, or their, home and her memory had failed to capture him in all his masculinity. The ache that sometimes overtook her at night was now tenfold, but she dared not do anything about it. Not with him so close. And that was what stunned her the most. She didn't need to tend to it herself now that her husband was home. If she agreed to stay in the marriage, which, really, what other choice did she have, he'd eventually take her again.

And she'd be lying if that thought wasn't incrediably thrilling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took me longer than I had expected. Sorry! Some things come up this weekend...things like my Tahoe getting totaled :( but no one was hurt and now I'm back on track!

The last six months had been the worst sort of hell. There had been several days out on the trail that Sandor had thought maybe the noose wouldn't have been so bad. At least he wouldn't be so fucking tired, or so fucking worn. The Frey's weren't easy to find, but easy enough to dispense of. Getting the boy back to his mother alive and well wasn't how Sandor had thought this adventure would end. He'd been for sure that even when he found the Frey's the kid would be dead and the deal would be void and he would either get another date with death or have to go on the run. He'd lived most of his life on the run, only going back to the small town of Bilson to his small hidden home every so often. And it had never bothered him. He enjoyed the thrill of his life like that. The rush of danger. But, oddly enough, something had changed when he looked into those wide, brilliantly blue eyes so full of fear and panic that night in the saloon. He'd known the second he looked at her, with her fire red hair and her porcelain white skin that she wasn't a whore. This was a lady, and a rather desperate one at that. Her discomfort at being in the saloon had amused him until the Cready boy he was playing cards with had to go and mouth off and the fight broke out. He'd been too relaxed, and too far into a bottle of whiskey, so the local sheriff didn't have much trouble slamming him in the tiny little cell. He'd been resigned to the fact he was dying come morning, wasn't even that concerned about it really. He'd always known a man like him wouldn't die of old age. But then the same girl from the saloon had been brought in, all flustered and in tears, her hair a mess and her pale skin smudged with dirt, probably from sleeping outside. There were even a few feathers stuck into her pretty red hair. She looked like a scrawny and frightened bird, but the story she told had actually been a bit of a kick in the gut. So he'd felt compelled to offer her what help he could. Maybe it'd get him some good points with the man upstairs, if there was one at all. Didn't hurt to make sure.

And it was the memory of her the last six months, the remembering of her scent, of her sweet voice, of how she so willingly opened up for him, that kept him going. That kept him from wanting to go on the lam. He'd never had a woman to warm his bed, never thought to have a wife at home, or even a home at all, but the thought was starting to sound damn good. Honestly, the thought of dying, of hanging, changed his ideas of how he wanted to live out the rest of his life. And the memory of her warm and wet body taking him inside, her somewhat startled sobs of pleasure, were enough to make him want her in it. So she hadn't seemed all that elated to see him home. Not that he could blame the girl. She'd married him for his name and the protection it gave her. Nothing else. And he was supposed to leave her a widow the next morning. But she looked better than he remembered. Healthier, her hips rounder, her chest fuller, those long red locks looking like silk. He meant what he said when he told her he wouldn't force her to stay married to him. But he was going to remind her how she still needed him. That bastard of an ex fiancé of hers was still out there, still looking for her. Sheriff Umber had kept in contact with a few of his law buddies in Dodge City and sure enough he'd been there looking for her. Whether the girl liked it or not, his being alive was better for her. Now he could protect her with his pistol and a piece hot lead instead of just his name. The next morning she seemed to be more in control of herself then she had been last night. She seemed almost angry, actually.

"I've seen the sheriff countless times in town and at church and he never said a word." she snapped at him after eating breakfast, her blue eyes flashing.

"Wouldn't be no point in tellin' you." he explained.

"And why not?" she placed those small hands on her full hips and Sandor felt himself start to get hard. "You were, or are, my husband. How did I not have a right to know that you were alive?"

"We didn't know how this was all gonna turn out. No point in makin' ya a widow twice." At that she deflated a bit, her hands dropping from her hips.

"So you found the boy?"

"Yeah." he nodded.

"And he's alright?"

"Back safe with his momma."

"And those men, they're in jail now?" Sandor bit down on his back teeth and thought for a moment.

"No." he finally answered her truthfully. She searched his face for a moment before her eyes went a little wide.

"You mean, they're..."

"Yes." he gave her the answer without her having to finish asking. Sansa turned away from him, making herself busy by folding those damn deputies pants that she was going to take with them into town.

"I could give you a haircut." she said after watching him try and tie the mess of hair back with a leather band. "And your razor is still here." he rubbed his unscarred cheek, feeling the length of his beard. He could take the hint that she wanted him to shave.

"Alright. I'll shave. You find the scissors." He found his razor and shaving soap and went to the kitchen where Sansa had a pot of hot water sitting and made quick work of cleaning up his beard.

"Sit here." she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs for him, a towel in her hand. Once he sat down, she draped the towel around his shoulders and pulled his hair free of it. "Do you mind if I brush it first? It'll make it easier to cut."

"Do what you want." he mumbled, enjoying her hands on him far too much to care what she did. Hell, she could be tying up his hair in ribbons right now for all he cared. When she started pulling the brush through his hair he let out a low groan and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the bristles tugging his scalp.

"Does that hurt?" she asked softly after a bit.

"Nu uh." he sighed. "Feels good. Ain't no one brushed my hair since my momma."

"Is she still alive?" she asked hesitantly, setting the brush down on the table. "Your mother?"

"No. She died when I was just a cuss of a boy."

"Your father, then?" he fingers sifted through his hair, separating the locks before taking up the scissors.

"Don't cut it too short." he warned her. "I, uh, like it to cover my scars some."

"Of course." she started cutting, her fingers brushing along his shoulder and neck as she did so, making his skin tingle.

"He's dead, too. My pa. Died before my momma."

"I guess that's something we have in common then, isn't it?"

"Bein' orphans?" he was having a hard time following the conversation, so lost in her fingers touching him. "Suppose so. My momma was a lot like you."

"Oh, yeah?" she sounded like she was excited about that. "How's that?"

"High class lady. Real pretty. But strong, like you are. Created quite the stir when she ran off with my pa."

"Why's that?" she asked, her breasts brushing along his shoulder as she shifted and he had to fold his hands in his lap so he didn't embarrass her.

"My pa was half Indian. Not the sort of man a lady of her standin' should be runnin' with. Somethin' her folks never forgave her for." Sansa was quiet for a long time after that, just cutting his hair and he wondered if she was thinking of what her own parents would have thought of her marrying a man like him. They'd be fit to be tied, of course. No parents in their right minds would happily see their daughter hitched to a man like him. But he wasn't going to point that out to Sansa. He was planning on doing what he could to convince her to stay his wife, not have her running from him.

"There." she finally said, whipping the towel off him and rounding to stand in front of him, kneeling slightly to run the fingers of both hands through his hair while she looked at her work. Sandor froze, shocked that she was that close, touching him so easily, a small smile of satisfaction on her face.

"I did a fine job, if I don't say so myself." she let one hand fall, the other rubbing the ends of his hair between her fingers as her eyes met his. Breathing so hard with her so close, he inhaled her with each breath and his jaw tightened with the urge to lean forward and capture her pretty pink lips with his mouth. She must have noticed the desire on his face because her cheeks went red and she swallowed hard, those big blue eyes dipping down to his mouth before shooting back up as she hastily straightened and took a step back.

"You look much more like a gentleman then a savage now." Sandor had to chuckle at that, standing up and brushing off the loose hairs that had fallen onto his shirt.

"Don't fool yourself, little bird. I'll always be more savage then gentleman, no matter how pretty you try and make me."

"Fine by me." she said softly. "I know how so called gentleman behave outside societies eyes. I think I'd rather take my chances with a savage."

"You sayin' you wanna stay married?" he wanted her to clarify.

"Like you said last night, those vows said until death do us part. Besides, Joffrey is still out there, still looking for me. I'd say the safest place for me to be is still here, hiding behind your last name."

"And now you got a living husband to protect you as well." he lifted a hand and ran his thumb along her jawline. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted slightly in shock so he dropped his hand and turned away from the temptation of her. "Best get to town. Need to speak with the sheriff and need to get some coffee. I ain't startin' the rest of my days on nothin' but milk." After hooking Stranger up to the buckboard and settling his wife next to him, they started towards town in an easy silence.

"Why do you call me little bird?" she asked once the town came into view.

"That evenin' in the jail, when the sheriff brought you in, you had some feathers stuck in your hair. Stickin' up, right in the back." he glanced over to see her cheeks flush in embarrassment as her hand skimmed the back of her head as if the feathers still might be there. "You looked like a scared little bird." he chuckled.

"I was." she whispered, turning to face him. "And you were a complete stranger who helped a frightened young woman. I never did thank you for that."

"I'd say you did." he laughed and she blushed even harder. "And it was a mighty fine thanks, at that."

"You, my husband, are an animal." she admonished him with a small smile.

"So they say." he chuckled. "So they say."

"The people in town, what are they going to say about you still being alive?" she asked as they drew closer.

"Don't rightly know, and don't really give a damn. People talk, always have." he cast her another look. "Bein' my wife ain't gonna be an easy thing, Sansa. You'll be the subject of the town gossip from here on out."

"And you think I haven't been these past six months?" she snapped. "I can handle the talk, Sandor, it doesn't bother me."

"Good to know." he nodded, steering the horse and wagon off to the side of the street and dismounting before helping Sansa down. Already people were stopping on the walkways to stare at him, but then that wasn't new.

"I'm going to the tailor to drop off Deputy Martell's pants, then I have a few things I need to get from the grocer."

"Alright, I'm gonna head over to see Sheriff Umber, check about that ex fiancé of yours. I'll find you in the grocer if you ain't back at the wagon when I'm done. Don't forget the coffee."

"Alright." she nodded, then surprised the hell out of him by going on tiptoe and dropping a kiss on his good cheek. "See you in a bit." Staggered, he watched her sashay down the wooden walkway before shaking himself. Rubbing his still tingling cheek, he turned and headed to the jailhouse.

"Ah, Mr. Clegane. I see you survived Mrs. Clegane last night." Sheriff Umber greeted him.

"Barely. She was pissed, that's for sure."

"Rightly so." John reminded him. "She had a right to know you were livin'."

"Why? So if one of those Frey's killed me she'd have to go through it all again? The girl had been through enough already. No need in puttin' her through that."

"Whatever you say, Clegane."

"Any word on that Lannister bastard?" Sandor dropped into the chair opposite the sheriff's desk.

"Last word I heard he sent posters to the train station in Dodge City with her picture on them, offerin' a reward for anyone that knew anythin' 'bout her."

"You think he'll make his way here?"

"Not without cause, but Sansa is a very pretty girl." at Sandor's low growl, John laughed and held up both hands. "People tend to take notice of pretty girls. 'Specially pretty girls that marry notorious outlaws. Words like to get around that you went and got yourself a pardon, and hitched. Best to keep an eye out, that's for certain."

"Long as you're willin' to look the other way if the bastard shows up." Sandor met the older mans gaze.

"Sandor, take it easy. You got yourself a good life now. A pretty young wife, a clean slate, somethin' to actually look forward to. Don't go lookin' for somethin' to mess it all up."

"I ain't goin' lookin' anymore, sheriff." Sandor stood from the chair. "But if it comes knockin' on my door, you best believe I wont turn tail and run."

"'Course not." the sheriff stood as well. "You just be sure to let me know if you hear word of him first."

"Sure thing, sheriff." Sandor tipped his hat to the man. It wasn't a right out lie. Sandor would tell him, but he wasn't making any promises that the boy would still be alive when he did his telling. After leaving the jailhouse, he made his way to the grocer where he found Sansa standing near the shelves of coffee beans talking with two other women. Her profile was to him so she didn't see him coming. He paused in his stride, struck with the sudden realization that the girl standing there was his wife. _His_ wife. He knew nothing of her other then the fact that she was from a high class of people, she was in a lot of trouble, and she was so damn pretty it made his chest ache. Oh, and he knew that her bright blue eyes darkened to a shade of sapphire right before she came. And her cheeks blushed real pretty when she was embarrassed or angry. Sansa said something and the three of them laughed lightly. He must have moved because Sansa looked over at that moment and seen him. As soon as their eyes met her cheeks went that pretty shade of red and he couldn't help but wonder what it was from this time. Was she thinking about their one night above the saloon? Probably not. She'd been desperate, and not _for_ him, just for a husband in general. He was a mean, ugly old cuss. Most like she was embarrassed she was having to be seen with her outlaw of a husband in public. He went to turn and leave the store and spare her the ordeal when she took a step towards him.

"Have you ladies met my husband?" she asked the other two women. Sandor froze in his turn to retreat and stared down at Sansa for a long moment before looking at the other two women. Both seemed close to Sansa's age, one staring at him with open curiosity, the other with barely contained panic.

"I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced." the curious one said. Not that he ever remembered seeing her before period.

"Ladies, this is my husband, Sandor Clegane." Sansa introduced him, even going so far as to step into his side and link her arm with his. "Sandor, this is Margaery Tyrell and Jeyne Poole." Sandor nodded his greeting to the women, then the last names registered.

"Those last names ring a bell. Tyrell, isn't that the mayors last name?"

"Yes, Willas." Margaery, the one who'd spoken earlier, smiled at him. "He's my brother. And my father, Mace, owns the bank."

"And Poole," he looked at the panic stricken girl. "Isn't that the ol' Vayon over at the saloons name?"

"Yes." she nodded without looking at him. "He's my father. He owns the saloon and the hotel." Sandor grunted his acknowledgment. So this was the type of women his wife ran with. As high class as women got in Bilson.

"You got everthin' we need?" he looked down at Sansa.

"I think so, yes." she smiled up at him sweetly and his gut tightened.

"Good." he cleared his suddenly tight throat. "Let's go."

"Good day, ladies." Sansa called over her shoulder as he towed her away from the other women.

"See you at services on Sunday!" the Tyrell girl called back. After paying for their purchases, he loaded the wagon and helped Sansa up on the buckboard. When they got back to the house Sansa started dinner while he brought the tub in from outside so she could bathe after they ate. Settling it in the bedroom so she could have some sort of privacy while she washed he paused to stare at the bed. He'd built it along with the cottage some fifteen years back but had spent very little time in it. The nights he'd actually spent in this cottage had been short and rather sleepless and never once had a woman, whore or otherwise, graced that bed. But now the room smelled of Sansa. And the pillow on the right side of the bed was indented with the shape of her head. It was the side of the bed he normally slept on when he did spend the night here. He wondered if she knew that. If those first few nights she lay in that bed, which probably still smelled like him at the time, and thought of him laying there. He wondered how long he'd have to wait until he was able to sleep in that bed with her. It had been a long six months and not a single night had gone by that he hadn't thought of her, remembered how she felt, how she smelled. And, damnit, he missed it. And Sandor Clegane wasn't a man who missed anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep had never been a thing that came easy to Sandor. When a man spent his life like Sandor had, weakness wasn't something he could afford. And a man was always weak when he was asleep. The fact that he spent most nights outside on the cold hard ground with nothing but a bedroll between him and the earth didn't help things. When sleep did come, it was always a light sleep. He'd trained himself to listen for and come alert to any sound or sign of trouble. The cot in the pantry was a big improvement from the bed he'd been sleeping on the last six months but he was still finding it hard to fall asleep. Although now he had his pretty little wife to blame for that. A whole different type of anxious feeling raced through his veins knowing she was just a room away, sleeping in his bed. Eventually sleep found him and he drifted off. Screaming brought him fully awake and jolting upright on the cot. He didn't hesitate a second before grabbing his pistol from under the cot and running to the bedroom. The door was open, like she'd left it, and Sansa was sitting up on the bed the oil lamp still burning on the nightstand. The flame showed that the room was empty except for them, and that she was breathing hard, her pale skin sparkling with perspiration.

"Bad dream?" he guessed, uncocking the pistol and lowering it next to his leg. Sansa looked over at him, but he guessed she couldn't see much of him as shadowed as the room was.

"Yes." she whispered. He stepped into the room and blew the flame out of the lamp and sat the pistol on the stand.

"No, don't!" Sansa reached for the lamp with one hand.

"Can't sleep with that burnin'." he told her.

"I...I can't sleep when it's dark. It frightens me." He thought of her sleeping in this house with that oil lamp burning all night long every night for the past six months and a shiver ran through him. How had she managed not to burn this place up?

"Well you can't sleep with it on either. I ain't riskin' you burnin' down our house. You have any idea what fire feels like when it's eatin' up your skin?" He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but the idea of burning again put a fear inside him that he could never manage to tame.

"No." her one worded answer came out softly. "I'm sorry." Sandor let out a irritated grunt and ran a hand over his face. He meant to soothe her after having an obviously very bad dream and here he was, barking at her.

"Move over." he snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"Scoot over." he flipped the covers back. "I'll sleep next to you. You wont need the light then. I'll be here to keep you safe." he lifted his knee to the bed and then waited, giving her time to tell him to fuck off, though he knew she'd never use that word. A prolonged second went by and then her slight frame shifted across the mattress and he felt the tension leave his body. Getting on the bed, he lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He could feel the tension coming off of Sansa next to him and he let out a long breath and looked over at her. It was dark in the room now without the lamp, but he could see her just fine from the moonlight coming in the window. His eyes were used to having to see at night. She lay on her side, facing him, her arms crossed tightly across her middle.

"Relax, Sansa." he told her. "I ain't gonna force nothin' on you."

"I know that." she sounded offended that he'd even considered the thought.

"Then why are you tense enough to shatter?"

"I..." her body eased some. "I don't know."

"How 'bout we make a deal?" he figured most of her anxiety was coming from not knowing what he was expecting and her lack of knowledge of what went on between men and women. He thought maybe he could help ease that.

"What sort of deal?"

"We'll sleep together every night, that way you don't have to be scared and I don't have to worry that you'll burn the house down around us. But nothin' else has to happen. I won't so much as touch you." He watched her as she chewed that over, her teeth working over the inside of her bottom lip.

"You don't want to?" she asked and he swore he could actually hear the blush in her voice.

"Don't wanna what? Touch you?" his head lifted off the pillow a little as he looked at her in disbelief.

"Well, you said you won't so much as touch me." Sandor barked a short laugh and shook his head.

"You are a daft little bird." he scoffed. "Touchin' you is all I've thought about these past six months. It's all the kept me from sayin' fuck it to the whole deal and goin' on the run. But I won't do it when you don't want it. I ain't that sort of a low life." he settled back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Beside him Sansa seemed to relax more.

"Thank you." she said after several moments passed. "It's not that I don't...want you to, to touch me. I just...I don't think I'm quite ready." Sandor knew that a hard on was completely inappropriate at the moment, but he couldn't quite will it to go completely away.

"You just let me know when you are." he said without opening his eyes. She was quite for a long time again before she spoke.

"Sandor?" he grunted for her to continue. "Just because I'm not ready for you to touch me...sexually doesn't mean you can't touch me to comfort me." That had his eyes opening. Turning his head to look at her, he swallowed several times before he was able to speak.

"I ain't never touched someone to comfort them." he told her. "Don't know how to do it." Sansa gave him a sweet smile and lifted up on her elbow. Scooting closer to him, she took hold of his elbow and tugged his arm out from under his head. Arranging it just so, she laid her head on the pillow it created and settled her front against his side. Laying stone still, he watched as she reached across his body and pulled his other hand free from behind his hand and pulled it to her shoulder as her arm settled across his chest.

"Goodnight, Sandor." she said once she'd settled herself. Sandor felt awkward and stiff and far too turned on when he knew nothing was going to happen.

"Night." he managed to ground out. Eventually he felt her body go completely lax against him and her breath even out with sleep and he let himself relax as well. Knowing she was asleep and wouldn't feel his awkward fumbling, he lifted his hand from her shoulder and ran his fingers through the soft silk of her hair, let them trace the line of her neck from the base of her skull to the start of her spine, the shell of her ear, the curve of her jaw. Her skin felt like warm silk and her body pressed up against his was the sweetest torture he could think of. Eventually he fell asleep, and for the first time he wasn't thinking of the dangers in the night but instead of the warm, sweet woman laying next to him.

He awoke early the next morning, as usual. The light coming in the window was still grey, the sun haven't yet risen all the way. It took him a moment to remember why he was more comfortable than normal. He wasn't on the ground in the middle of the wilderness or on the cot in the pantry. He was in his bed, his body spooned up around that of his wife. It took him another moment to realize what the source of exquisite pleasure surging through him was. Sansa had turned in the night, her back now facing him, her bottom pressed against his erection. His arm was thrown over her waist, but his hand was clamped between her thighs, the blade his fingers created pressed tightly against her center. A center that was hot and wetting the layer of cotton undershorts that separated them. But best of all, or maybe it was worst of all, Sansa was rocking her hips against him, pressing her ass back into his erection while rubbing his hand along her folds. He'd immediately deemed her asleep and unconscious of what she was doing. He needed to extract his hand from her legs and his body from the amazing pleasure hers was giving him before she woke up and never forgave him for this. He started to do just that when her hand lifted and gripped his wrist.

"No." she gasped, breathless, her voice deep and husky. He closed his eyes against the surge of arousal and grunted when he couldn't stop his hips from rolling against her.

"Sansa." he ground out her name. "You're half asleep. You don't know what your askin'."

"Please." she rubbed herself with more purpose against his hand and he even helped her by turning his hand and curving his fingers a little.

"Oh, God. Sandor, I'm so close. Please, don't stop." Like he had any power to deny that. Pulling her closer to his body, he removed his hand from between her thighs only long enough to throw the covers off them and pull her nightdress up to her waist. Figuring that was enough for her for now, he left her undershorts on and just shoved his hand inside of them, groaning when his fingers slid through dampened hair and into hot, slick flesh. Shoving his forehead against her shoulder, he parted her folds and found her clit, already swollen and hard.

"Jesus, Sansa." he said into her hair. "This is how I remembered you." he slid his fingers lower and slowly slid two inside of her, pressing in as deep as he could go. Her back arched on a moan and her hand came around to grab hold of his hip. "Move with me." he told her and when she started to he thought the top of his head would come off. Her ass ground into his erection and it felt so damn good he thought it might be enough for him to get off that way. But this wasn't about him. He wanted to show her, to prove to her, that he could please her, at least in this way. He may not be the gentleman she was used to, or the perfect husband she'd thought she'd marry, and he knew damn well he wasn't near as pretty as the men he was sure were vying for her hand before she'd come to him, but he knew he was at least good at this. So he worked her and worked her until she was panting and moaning and her body was gripping his fingers and then he crooked his fingers inside of her, rubbed her clit with the heel of his hand, and she came apart. He didn't let up while she came, he kept working her, kept his fingers thrusting inside of her, and only lessened the pressure on her clit until she came back down.

"I want you to come again." he lifted his head to say in her ear and she shivered.

"I don't think I can." she panted.

"You can." he assured her, pulling his fingers from her to trail the wetness up to her now even more swollen clit and circling it. "And you will." She did, and this time she damn near brought him with her when she lifted her arm to reach around and grab a fistful of his hair as her body trembled almost violently against him. This time he couldn't manage to stay with her until she came back down. He was painfully hard and was certain just a breath of wind could bring him down at the moment. Getting out of the bed, he made for the outhouse, forgoing boots, to ease his own ache.

When he came back into the bedroom Sansa was still in the bed, now laying on her back, the covers pulled up under her arms. She looked over at him when he walked in and her cheeks flamed red, the color washing down her neck. It was still early yet, so he climbed back into the bed and lay on his back, giving her time to get over her embarrassment.

"That was..." she started, then stopped and giggled. When Sandor looked over at her, she rolled over onto her side so she faced him. "Amazing. I had no idea that could happen more than once."

"Can happen lots of times." he told her, and since he couldn't manage not to, he lifted a hand and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Far as I know there isn't a limit. At least for women."

"But there is for men?"

"Men are different. They need time to...regroup after. But most can go more than once a night."

"But you didn't...um," her cheeks flamed even brighter and her eyes dropped away from his. "go at all. Did you?"

"I eased my own ache outside, little bird." he chuckled at her discomfort.

"But, why?" she looked back up at him, a curious expression in her eyes. "Doesn't it feel better when...when someone else, you know. Does it for you. I mean, what you just did made everything I've done myself..." she abruptly stopped talking, her eyes going wide. It took Sandor a moment to filter through what she'd just said to realize what she'd been going to say. And just like that, it was as if he hadn't just gotten himself off.

"You mean you've made yourself come before?"

"Not before...our wedding night. I didn't know my body was able to do that."

"But since then?" he watched her, waited anxiously for her answer.

"Well, I am a married woman now. There is no shame in it." she tilted her chin haughtily. "So, yes. I have." He shifted to his side so he could face her better.

"Who was it you thought about?" he demanded. He suddenly needed to know. He needed to know that she had at least felt some of the same overwhelming desire he felt after that night. That it had affected her at least a fraction of the amount that it had him. Because God knows there were countless times he'd found his pleasure with the memory of her on his mind.

"Excuse me?" she snapped, her pretty blue eyes narrowing. Maybe it was a crude question, but damnit, he needed the answer.

"Who was it? Was it that deputy that you tailor pants for? Oberyn, is that his name? Or maybe it's the mayor. Lord knows all the ladies in this town swoon over that man, lame that he is. So tell me, wife, which handsome gentleman was it that touched you in your fantasies when you got yourself off at night?" Sansa gasped, then huffed, shoving away from him and getting up from the bed.

"I need to get dressed and start breakfast." she looked over her shoulder at him. "Do you mind giving me some privacy?" Sandor got up, figuring he'd offended her enough for one morning and gave her the privacy she wanted. A few moments later she came out in a pretty blue calico dress with her hair pinned up.

"Goin' somewhere?" he asked when he seen how nice her clothes were.

"It's Sunday." she informed him as she passed him on her way to the kitchen. "I'm going to church after breakfast." she snatched an apron off the wall and covered the dress, then got to work making eggs and bacon with biscuits and gravy. She didn't talk to him again so he figured she was still angry at him, which was just fine. She still didn't talk to him while they ate, or while he attempted to help her clean up the breakfast mess.

"Will you be coming to services, or do I need to hook up Stranger myself?" She asked when she joined him on the porch when she finished cleaning the kitchen. He almost told her that it was ridiculous that a woman would hitch a horse up by herself before he remembered that was exactly what she'd been doing for the past six months.

"I ain't goin' to no church, but I'll hitch the wagon and I'll take you in. Need to go see an old friend of mine anyway. I'll pick you up after."

"An old friend?" Sansa met his eyes and her hands went to her hips. Sandor fought a grin. "Sandor, what are you doing? You've got a clean slate. I thought you were done with that?"

"Not that type of old friend." Sandor assured her, unused to someone being concerned about what he was doing. "Or, at least not anymore. Bronn hasn't been an outlaw for a long time. Married a ranchers daughter ten years back. Rancher died so now Bronn owns it. Thought I'd see if he needs a hand."

"Oh." Sansa smiled. "That's a wonderful idea." Her happiness in his plans gave him a surge of pride. Pushing off the porch railing, he started for the stairs.

"I'll go hitch the horse. Get yourself ready and meet me by the barn." Sandor dropped Sansa off at the church, which garnered him lots of leers and one steady gaze from the preacher, the same preacher that had drug himself out of bed in the middle of the night to marry the two of them. Luwin was his name, if Sandor remembered correctly. He'd also been at the jail house the next morning when the sheriff had brought Sandor back, still thinking he was going to the gallows. Sandor tipped his hat to him then snapped Stranger into motion again. The ride out to the Stokeworth ranch would take the duration of the services but Sansa had told him that was fine. She would ride back to town with Jeyne and eat lunch with her family and visit until he returned.

He'd met Bronn a few years before the other man retired his outlaw ways. Sandor was working a train heist at the time and Bronn had been brought on to help by one of his regular guys. The man was a fast talker, quick witted, but had been damn good at what he'd done. They'd worked together several times after but then Bronn had met Lollys and turned from the life. They'd kept in touch and Bronn had helped him hide out a few times. The Stokeworth ranch was nothing fancy and nothing big. Sandor walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door and a few seconds later Bronn opened the door, seeming only mildly surprised to find Sandor there.

"Damnit, dog." Bronn grinned and motioned for him to come in. "Thought the sheriff strung you up a few months back."

"That was the original plan. But he had better uses for this old dogs nose. And I got myself a pardon out of the deal."

"Come on in." Bronn led him into the kitchen and poured them each a cup of coffee and then they sat at the table. "I heard you got yourself a wife right before the hangin'."

"That I did." Sandor took a deep drink of the coffee. "You met her?"

"Not properly. I've seen her around town, though." Bronn grinned. "She's a pretty thing. Seems a bit high class for Bilson. And for the likes of you."

"And Lollys wasn't too high class for you?" Bronn was a man like himself. An orphaned outlaw that had done horrible things to stay alive in this horrible world. A man with a hint of Indian blood, but enough to make others think he was worthless. Everyone except for Lollys, obviously.

"Lollys is plain, fat, and too stupid to care." Bronn laughed. "Didn't take much to convince the girl to go against her fathers wishes and marry me. I knew I didn't want to live that old life forever. The life marryin' her provided for me gave me that option. Although I don't think the same could be said for your marriage."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Sansa seems nothin' like Lollys. She's pretty and smart. And I know damn well you weren't in need of anyone else's money to get out of that life. You had plenty of it. And apparently you got yourself a clean slate now as well." Bronn leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "So tell me, Hound, why'd the girl marry you?"

"Would you believe me if I said she fell madly in love with me at first sight?"

"Not a chance." Bronn laughed.

"No, she needed a place and a name to hide behind." Sandor shrugged. "I was supposed to be on my way out of this world. Thought I'd do at least one good thing before I died so I married the girl."

"But you didn't hang."

"I didn't hang." Sandor agreed, and knew Bronn wanted him to go on, explain how the marriage would work now, or if it would at all, but Sandor didn't know the answer to those questions so he didn't go on. Instead, he leaned forward and braced his arms on the table.

"Got a deal for you."

"I'm done with that life now, Clegane." Bronn said evenly. "So should you be."

"I am." Sandor groaned inwardly. Did no one believe he was really finished with that life? "It's not that sort of deal. As you said, I got me some money. And you got you some cattle. I was thinkin', if we partnered, bought a couple hundred more head of cattle, we could double this ranches profits. If not more."

"And you'd want to be partners in it?"

"Fifty fifty." Sandor said firmly. "It's my money. I could do it on my own." Bronn nodded, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. Sandor held his tongue, because in reality, he needed Bronn. No banker was going to give him a mortgage on land and most cattlemen wouldn't sell to him. They wouldn't of to Bronn either if it hadn't been for the Stokeworth name he'd taken on when he married Lollys.

"Alright." he finally said. "We'd need more land, though." For the next two hours they figured out all the details of what would need to be done before Sandor left him to go pick Sansa up from the Poole's. She was sitting outside on the porch with Jeyne when he got there, drinking a glass of tea. She smiled and waved as he got off the wagon and walked up the steps. Why was it every time she looked at him his stomach went into knots and his chest tightened?

"Did you have a good visit?" she asked him.

"Productive." As he watched her, Sansa looked at Jeyne out of the corner of her eye and gave him a pointed stare with one brow raised. He took it to mean he should be all respectful and greet the other woman.

"Miss Poole." he tipped his head to her but the girl wouldn't so much as lift her eyes past his chest.

"Mr. Clegane." her voice trembled when she spoke. That reaction used to amuse him, but for some reason it was irritating right now. Sandor curled his lip and groaned.

"You ready?" he asked Sansa, a little harsher than he'd actually meant to. It wasn't her he was angry with. It wasn't actually the Poole girl either. Just the reminder of the sort of man he was.

"Of course." Sansa said softly, standing from her seat and turning to the other girl.

"I had a lovely afternoon, Jeyne, thank you."

"Oh, certainly. It was a pleasure to have you." They rode back to the cottage in silence. Sandor was in a piss poor mood and he knew it was making Sansa uncomfortable so once they got to the house he made an effort to be less of an ass.

"That visit with Bronn turned out good." he told her once she settled into a kitchen chair to peel potatoes for dinner. He sat down in the chair across from her.

"Oh, yeah?" she glanced over at him before looking back at her work.

"Ever heard of the Stokeworth ranch?"

"As in Lollys Stokeworth?" Sandor nodded. "Yes, she comes to church. I've never met her husband though."

"His names Bronn. Used to be Blackwater, but when he married Lollys he took her last name instead of the other way round."

"Why, whatever for?" Sansa laughed.

"Bronn was a man like me." Sandor explained and Sansa's mirth dried up. "Wanted a better life, a different one. The kind that couldn't come with his last name. So when he married her, he took hers. And when her daddy died, he got the ranch. Now I offered to buy a few hundred more head of cattle and a hundred more acres of land and in trade we go in partners, fifty fifty." Sansa sat the knife and potato down and turned to face him better.

"I don't understand, Sandor. If you have the money, why not just do it on your own?"

"I ain't got the option Bronn had, little bird." he took the chance and reached across the table and took one of her small hands in his. "My name protects you, but it also prevents me from gettin' a mortgage at the bank or cattle from another rancher." A second before her eyes dropped he seen the sheen of tears and wished he hadn't said a damn thing. She bowed her head and brought her free hand up to cover his that lay on top of hers.

"I'm so sorry I got you into this." Pulling his hand free of hers, he took hold of her chin and lifted her head so she looked at him again, the tears shinning in her blue eyes twisting something tight in his chest.

"Don't you say that." he growled. "Don't you ever say that. You have been the only good thing I've ever done in my life. The only right decision I made. And now I'm tryin' to start a life that won't wind up with me in a noose and you a widow again." he let go of her chin, only to cup the side of her face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear that trailed down her cheek. "And this is how I do that."

"It sounds like a good life." she smiled, although it didn't reach her eyes, but when her hand covered his on her face and she pressed it to her cheek for a second, he didn't think he minded so much at the moment. His first night back home he'd been so tired and so hungry he hadn't managed to taste much of the food he ate, but since then he'd realized something. His sweet little wife couldn't cook worth a damn. She tried, he'd give her that, but her biscuits were burnt, her eggs were runny, the chicken she cooked for dinner that night was as tough as the sole of his boot. Not that he could say much for his own cooking skills, which mainly consisted of being able to heat up beans and cook any sort of game he managed to kill until it wasn't raw.

"My family always had cooks." she told him after he managed to forced down a breast. The carrots and potatoes at least were decent. If not a little overdone.

"I'm not a picky eater."

"I am." she laughed. "Although I've had to change my palate quite a bit since having to cook for myself."

"I can make a mean pot of beans." he liked her teasing herself. "That's where my cookin' skills end. You miss it?"

"Miss what?" she looked up from her plate.

"Miss the luxury of fine dinners?"

"Not really." she smiled. "Except for lemon cakes." she closed her eyes and hummed and Sandor's blood sang in his veins. "I love lemon cakes."

"Never had one." he cleared his suddenly thick throat. "I'm goin' out for a smoke." he stood from the table and she followed suit.

"I'll bring you out some coffee." He went out on the porch and pulled a rolled cigarette from his pocket and lit it. A few minutes later, Sansa joined him, handing him a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry about Jeyne."

"What about her?" he took a long draw off the cigarette.

"Both occasions of meeting you she has been quite rude. She's usually a very nice girl." Sansa sighed and shook her head. "I don't know what her problem is."

"I do."

"What do you mean?" Sansa looked at him curiously.

"I'm an outlaw, Sansa." he reminded her. "A killer with half a face and a bad attitude. She's scared, like most people are. And she doesn't understand what the hell a girl like you is doin' with a dog like me." Sansa turned around, leaned against the railing to look out at the dark sky.

"Of course she doesn't understand." she spoke so quietly Sandor almost didn't hear her. "No one could possibly understand." she turned back to him. "And it doesn't matter if they do or not. I don't care." He almost pointed out that he didn't understand why she would want to stay married to him, but then he remembered it was because she needed his protection. And he would protect her.

After he finished the coffee she went back in to clean up the kitchen and he went out to the barn to make sure Stranger was ready for the night. He lingered longer then he needed to so Sansa would have enough time to change and get ready for bed before he returned. When he did join her in the bedroom, she was standing on the other side of the bed, using the furnishing as a sort of shield between them.

"I, uh, think we should talk about what happened this morning."

"What about it?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her as he pulled his boots off.

"Well, I know I said I wanted to wait, but then that happened. But I do want to wait." Sandor got his boots off and stood and faced her, unhooking his belt and removing it while watching her. Her eyes slid down to watch his movements and her cheeks brightened in spite of the dim light.

"I know I must be sending mixed signals, but this morning was..." she trailed off, not having the words.

"A mistake?" he supplied, draping the belt over the foot rails of the bed and undoing his pants.

"No. Not a mistake, really." she turned, as if to give him privacy as he pulled down his pants. He had on long underwear, which is what he normally slept in, but he let her have her sense of modesty and went to work of the first few buttons of his shirt.

"Sansa, relax." he sighed, his irritation with her growing, as he pulled the shirt over his head. "I told you already, I wont do nothin' you don't ask me to. And if I remember correctly, and I'm sure I do, you asked me this mornin'. Damn near begged, actually. So quit your damn worryin'." she turned back to him now, her chin up in the air all superior like.

"You have foul mouth."

"And I've got a damn short temper too. One that tends to go off when I'm accused of things I don't do. And I haven't done a fuckin' thing to warrant your fear of me. I told you I wouldn't touch you. And I haven't. Not that you didn't want." he clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, calming his temper. "Do I need to go back to the pantry? Or can I sleep in my own bed with my own wife without her havin' a fit of panic?" The haughtiness leaked out of her posture and she looked down at her hands.

"Of course you can sleep in the bed."

"Good." he pulled the blankets back. "Get in." He waited until she was settled under the covers then he blew the flame in the lamp out and climbed in beside her. This night she didn't cuddle up to his side, but she wasn't holding herself stiff either. He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.

"I'm sorry." her voice was accompanied by her hand covering his on his chest. "You're right. I had no ground for those assumptions. You've been nothing but kind and respectful to me since you've come home. I had no right. I'm sorry." He didn't know what to say to that. No one had ever apologized to him, let alone when he actually deserved it. He actually felt guilty for making her have something to apologize for.

"It's alright." he pulled his hand out from under his so he could cover hers with it. She fell asleep like that, with her hand resting on his heart. She didn't cuddle against his side or touch him otherwise, but she didn't pull her hand away from him either. It was enough. It would have to be. And it was probably more then he deserved.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all will have to give me a break on typos with this chapter. Naptime was cut rather short so I wasn't able to do a read through. Apologies in advance!!

The next week came and went and things seemed to get easier between the two. Sandor was gone most of the time now, off working with Bronn at the ranch, but they still had their mornings together and he was home in time for supper every night. In that time, Sansa had come to realize a few things about her husband. He spoke brash and harsh, but there was an underlying gentleness to his words and the way he spoke to her that eased the blow. And maybe it was just that she wasn't used to words like he used. She noticed that he tried to keep her on his right side, away from his burn scars, as much as possible. He almost demanded she look at him, and it seemed a blow to his pride when she didn't. He didn't sleep well at night and even though it was turning cold, he kept a fair distance from the fire at night. It was something she still hadn't braved asking him about yet.

She also found out that he could neither read or write beyond rudimentary words but besides that he was a brilliant man and was particularly good with numbers. Once she found out about his lack of literary skills, she went to work teaching him. He'd been reluctant at first, something she thought had to do with feeling ashamed of the fact he could do neither, but eventually she convinced him of it.

It was those few hours spent together that were her favorite. Once he got past his shame, he'd taken to the lessons with great enthusiasm. She loved watching him discover new words, or learn about the wide world outside of his own through books. He asked questions and she told him stories of parts of the world she had seen. Which wasn't all that much. She told him about New York City and about how she'd once taken a ship to London. In turn he told her about the wilds of the territories. Of living with the Indians and sleeping under the stars and fighing in the war. He was an exciting man, her husband. Exciting and complex. Both intimidatingly strong and heart wrenchingly vulnerable. They had yet to revist any...intamacies although they shared a bed every night. Sandor never even so much as kissed her. Actually, Sandor had never kissed her. Ever. Not once. She thought of that while he read to her at night, sitting close enough to the fire to illuminate the pages he was reading but far enough away that the heat barely touched him. One corner of his mouth was burnt. She wondered what that would feel like. Would it hurt? Would it be scratchy or sharp? Would his lips be firm and solid like the rest of him, or soft and gentle like she knew he could be?

"Sansa?" her name being almost shouted had her head jerking back.

"What?" she met his gaze and his one eyebrow kicked up.

"Where'd ya go?" he cocked his head to the side. "I asked you three times what this word was."

"Oh," she pressed the back of her hand against her warming cheek. "Sorry, I must have drifted off." she leaned over the book and looked at the word he was pointing at. "That's knife."

"Why is there a k in knife?" Sansa laughed. 

"You know, I haven't a single clue. To make it harder to learn, I suppose." Sandor nodded, but didn't look back at the book, holding her gaze instead. "What?" she asked, shifting slightly.

"Your cheeks are red." he pointed out, which only made the go even redder she was sure.

"It's getting warm by the fire." she lied, standing and moving further from it, and him. "I'm awfully tired. If it's alright with you, I think I'll go to bed now."

"You don't need my permission, little bird." he stood and sat the book on the table next to the chair. "Think I'll come with you." She nodded and went to the bedroom, leaving him to extinguish the fire and turn down the lamp. She'd already changed into her nightdress after supper, so she lit the oil lamp on the nightstand and removed her robe before she got into bed. It was a few moments before Sandor joined her, turning out the lamp as usual.

"Talked to sheriff Umber today." he said once he was laying next to her.

"How is he?" she rolled to face him, knowing he would be on his back as usual.

"Fine. It wasn't a social call, though." A cold feeling filled her belly and she shivered. Sandor noticed and reached for one of her hands, which he held in both of his against his chest.

"Vayon Poole received a package of posters yesterday to hang up at the hotel and the saloon. Umber got the same. There posters of you. Sayin' there's a reward for anyone who knows where you are." That cold feeling balled up and lodged itself in her throat, chocking off a sob.

"You dont...you don't think Vayon will hang them, do you?"

"Umber's already collected them. But Vayon, idoit that man is, had already hung some of them. Didn't even recognize you, or so he says. They weren't up for long, but it might have been enough."

"But these people know me." Sansa almost sobbed, but forced herself to remain calm. "They wouldn't turn me in."

"He's claimin' you were his fiancé and that you were kidnapped. That's not a far stretch for people to think me capable of somethin' like that. And people will do damn near anythin' for money."

"But you didn't." Sansa did cry this time, sitting up and fisting his shirt in both her hands. "You wouldn't. Oh, Sandor. I can't go back to him. I can't let him find me."

"Look at me, girl." he reached up with both hands and held her face so she had no other choice. "You're my wife now. Mine. Not his. I won't let a damn thing happen to you. Not now, not ever. I'll kill the little bastard before he ever touches you again."

"We should just leave." she whispered, tears falling freely from her eyes, stopping when they hit his hands holding her cheeks. "We can go anywhere. Just keep moving."

"I ain't runnin' my whole life, Sansa." he said gently, pushing his hands up to run through her hair. "I've done it before, and I ain't doin' it again. And neither are you. I won't spend the rest of my life lookin' over my shoulder just waitin' on that bastard to take the only good thing that's ever happened to me." Fresh tears spilled over as a wave of emotion flipped her stomach and made her heart flutter.

"Oh, Sandor." she let go of his shirt and held his face like he had hers and leaned down to press her lips to his. He froze beneath her, his only movement a tightening of his fingers in her hair. She'd never kissed a man before other than Joffrey, and that was only a chaste peck in greeting or farewell. She let her lips form to his, which were surprisingly soft for such a hard man, and just lingered there, learning the shape of his mouth before slowly pulling back. He let her, his hands falling from her hair to her shoulders. In the dim light the moon provided, she could just make out his face, which was set in an expressionless mask. But the grey in his eyes seemed to glint with it's intensity.

"No one can ever take me from you now." she told him, her voice shaking with her emotions. "I'm your wife, Sandor. Nothing Joffrey can do will change that." He blinked a few times, his throat working, then his hands tightened on her shoulders and he pulled her down to lay against his side. For some reason, she couldn't stop crying. She was scared that Joffrey would find her. She was stunned by Sandor's words. She was overwhelmed by her own emotions towards him. So many things that she just couldn't begin to sift through at the moment. But Sandor held her tightly. He didn't offer her any words as her tears wet his undershirt or her sobs racked her body. He just offered her his silent strength, one large hand running up and down her back, the other holding her hand on his chest.

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep but when she woke up dim light filtered in through the window and the bed was empty. She groaned and stretched, rubbing her eyes that felt gritty and swollen. Her throat hurt. Sitting up in the bed, she looked around the room, but Sandor wasn't there. His pants were gone from where they'd been draped over the chair in the corner. Getting up and dressing, she brushed out her hair and left it down for now, not feeling up to pinning it up. It was dark and dreary outside, and the air felt heavy like a storm was brewing. She found Sandor outside on the front porch, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Morning." she greeted him, pulling her shaw tighter around her shoulders to ward off the early morning cold. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

"Mornin'."

"You weren't in bed when I woke up." it was a first. Since they had started sharing a bed, he'd always woken her up when he rose so she could fix him breakfast before he went to work. But it was Sunday and he didn't have work today.

"Figured you'd needed the sleep." she came to stand next to him and leaned against the porch railing. "You doin' alright?" he hooked a finger around a few hairs caught in the wind and tucked them behind her ear, his hand was warmed from holding the hot cup of coffee and she leaned her face into it.

"Fine." he chuckled and tweeked her chin slightly.

"Still a horrible liar."

"What do you want for breakfast?" she asked, playfully shoving his hand away from her chin.

"Don't worry 'bout that. There's biscuits left from last night. I ain't that hungry." the next rumble of thunder was preceeded by a bolt of lightening. They both looked out at the rapidly gathering storm. The sky was black and ominous. "Looks like you'll be skippin' services today." Sansa didn't like missing services, but she couldn't argue with him. She didn't want to travel into town on the wagon in this storm.

"I'm goning to go change out of this dress, then." No sense in staying in her Sunday best if they were just staying at home. Going back to the bedroom, she began taking off the dress and noticed her hands were trembling slightly. Her stomach was doing little flips and she felt all jittery. She wasn't nervous, or scared, though. She felt...excited. It would be the first time in a week that they spent the entire day together. And things had changed in the last week. Laughing lightly at herself, she carefully put the dress away and started to put on her most comfortable dress when an idea came to her. Putting on her nightdress instead, she tied her robe tightly around her and padded out to the kitchen to find Sandor in the kitchen eating a biscuit.

"I have an idea." she smiled at him and he skimmed her figure before lifting his brow in confusion.

"What's that?"

"When's the last time you spent the entire day in bed?" Sandor paused in the act of taking another bite of biscuit.

"I ain't ever spent the entire day in bed." he finally said, shoving the rest of the food in his mouth and wiping the crumbs off his chest. Of course he hadn't. He had rarely spent full nights in a bed. "Always had things to do."

"Well, today you don't. The weather wont allow for it." she grinned and put her hands on her hips. "And neither will your wife." Sandor crossed his arms over his big, broad chest and leaned a hip against the counter, an amused look on his face.

"I can't sleep all day, little bird."

"I never said anything about sleeping. Now, come on." she turned back towards the bedroom. "Grab that deck of cards from the mantel." she told him as she picked up the book they'd been working on the last week. Going back into the bedroom, she took her robe off and climbed back into the bed, sitting up with her legs crisscrossed under the blankets. Sandor took so long she thought maybe he wasn't coming and her heart sank. But eventually he came in, hesitating awkwardly at the edge of the bed, the cards in his hand.

"Come on." she patted the space before her cheerfully. Sandor shook his head, but chuckled softly and kicked his boots off. He took his pants off, but left both shirts on before he climbed in in front of her. "Now, we will use this dreary, stormy day for something productive." she picked up the deck of cards he sat next to him and handed them to him. "You are going to teach your wife to play poker."

"Gamblin' on the Sabbath?" Sandor raised his brow at her as he emptied the cards into his hand. "Why, I think I've been a bad influence on you, my little wife."

"It's not gambling." she assured him. "We aren't making bets. You're just teaching me." They spent the rest of the morning learning the finer points of poker, since she already knew the basics thanks to her father. She also told him about her dad. Of the type of man he was, his business and his personality. It took a little pressing, but he told her about his as well. Apparently, he wasn't a good man. He was prone to angry outbursts that tended to be targeted at his mother, but eventually Sandor drew them to himself instead. It hurt Sansa's heart to imagine such a little boy taking on such a hard, ugly task. How brave her husband had been, even as a child. They played cards and talked until their stomachs finally drew them from bed and into the kitchen. Together they made a simple meal of beans and cornbread, which she actually managed not to burn. The ate to the sound of the heavy drumming of rain and frequent rumbling of thunder. When they were finished, Sandor redressed to go check on Stranger and the chickens while Sansa cleaned up the kitchen. When she finished, she got back into bed and waited for Sandor.

"It's comin' down in sheets out there." he said when he came back into the bedroom, completely soaked through.

"Everything holding up okay?" she got out of bed to get him a towel while he took his wet things off.

"Storms never did bother that horse." he shucked his wet pants and shirt into the corner before lifting his undershirt and Sansa's heart did a funny little skip. She'd never seen him shirtless. For some reason, it made him seem all the more intimidating instead of vulnerable like she'd imagined it would have other men. He was massive, her husband, his skin tanned dark from years spent outside and his fathers heritage. His chest and arms were covered in dark hair, except for the seemingly random spots where the hair didn't grow. It took her a moment to realize that he had scars there, all over his body. And the burn scars from his face traveled down his neck and bloomed out over his shoulder. His abs were thick and solid, glistening in the light from the rainwater. Another trail of hair picked up from his navel that disappeared behind his underwear. She started to look lower, but stopped herself when she started to get light headed.

"Here." she thrust the towel towards him, hoping he didn't notice how her hand shook, or how her voice did. If he did, he commented on neither and simply took the towel she offered and quickly dried himself. Turning her back on him, trying to tamp down the rushing arousal that coursed through her, she went to the dresser and found him a dry undershirt and a pair of long underwear. Keeping her eyes firmly on the floor, she turned back to him and offered him the clothing.

"Thank ya." as soon as he took them, she turned back around to give him privacy to change. "You stay in bed all day a lot back before you came here?" he asked once he was dressed again and they both climbed back into bed, although they didn't pick back up the game of cards.

"Oh, no." she laughed. "Hardly ever. Just when I was ill and once when a big snow storm made it impossible to leave the house." she lay back on the pillows next to his hip where he sat up against the headboard. "Didn't you ever stay in bed when you were sick?" she asked, looking up at him.

"No." he looked down at her and lifted the hand closest to her to run through her hair, which was still loose. "Maybe when I was real young, but I don't remember. Never had the option when I got older." Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of his fingers rubbing her scalp.

"What made you..." she paused, wondering if she should continue with her question. But she wanted to know, because she thought she was coming to know this man and what she knew of him just didn't match the cold blooded murderer he was notorious for being. "Why did you choose that life?" His fingers paused in their movement for only a second, but quickly resumed running through her hair and when she looked up at him, he didn't look angry.

"I was twelve when my pa died." he looked straight ahead as he spoke, almost as if he wasn't speaking to her anymore. "He got real drunk one night, and he was always real mean when he was drunk. Started fightin' with my momma and he hit her so I shoved him. I was big for my age, even back then, but so was my pa. And he had blind rage on his side. Momma tried to stop him, but nothin' could of. Got me by the back of my shirt and shoved my face in the fire." Sansa gasped, pulling back away from him slightly, which brought him back to their bedroom. He blinked a few times and looked down at her.

"My God, Sandor." Sansa sat up and took his hand in both of hers. "What happened then?"

"Momma got his gun and shot him." he lifted a hand to wipe away tears she hadn't been aware were falling. "Took me to the nearest doc, but not much could be done by then. Year later, she died. Think it was a broken heart. My pa may of been a bastard, but my momma loved him. Seein' him do that to me, havin' to kill him, it killed her." And it had left Sandor an orphan at thirteen. "I tried findin' a job, honest work, but no one wanted to hire a Indian boy with half a face. It started off as just takin' what I needed to survive, but I was good at it." he shrugged. "Not sayin' it was right, but it was a way to live. The only way I could figure. Killin' was never a part of it. Never killed an innocent man, little bird, only men worse than me." She believed him. Sandor Clegane was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you, Sandor." she wished she had more to say, something better. Something that could take away his pain. But she didn't, and she knew words would never be enough. And it was in that moment she fell a bit in love with him. And it was then she promised herself that she would help to ease his pain by replacing his bad memories with good ones.

"Bad things happen to bad people." he said dryly and Sansa shook her head. Reaching up, she took hold of his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes so she could see him fully. His scars were horrible. There was no getting around that. She looked at them now as her fingers trailed across the cracks and crevices. The skin was rough and waxy and she wondered if it still hurt him sometimes so she was gentle with her touches. When she reached his chin, she met his eyes, which blazed with intensity. Shock, heat, confusion, fear, arousal, anger, so many emotions showed in those grey depths.

"You are a good man, Sandor Clegane." she said firmly, then leaned forward to press a kiss to his scarred temple. "An honest man." she whispered against his skin, kissing his cheek. "An honerable man." she kissed the corner of his mouth and pulled back just enough to look at him again. "And I'm proud to call you my husband." He took hold of her shoulders, almost hesitantly.

"Sansa?" He said her name as a question and Sansa smiled slightly.

"You know, husband, you've never given me a kiss."

"I kissed you at our wedding." he countered.

"You pecked my cheek." she reminded him. "I mean a proper kiss." she looked at his mouth and touched his bottom lip with the tip of her finger. "I've never had a proper kiss before."

"Is a kiss all you want?" he asked, his always deep voice so low it caused a shiver to rush up her spine. "Tell me now so I know where to stop." Sansa hesitated, chewing the inside of her bottom lip. She didn't know. Maybe she did want more. What was stopping her? He was her husband, under God and the state of Kansas. She desired him, there was no question of that. There never really had been. She felt she knew him, at least somewhat now. One of his hands left her shoulder and cupped her chin, his thumb rubbing just under her bottom lip.

"Trust me?" he asked, the look in his eyes seeming like he was asking her so much more. Sansa swallowed agaisnt the lump in her throat.

"Of course I do." And she did. She really did. Far more then she had ever trusted anyone beyond her own parents. She trusted him with her life. He smiled, the act twisting his scars, but it didn't bother Sansa. It made her heart flutter to know she'd made him happy enough to smile. He so seldom did.

"Then we'll start with a kiss." his thumb tugged her bottom lip and a trindle of sensation shot to her belly. "Go from there. And if I do somethin' you don't want, just say and I'll stop." Suddenly nervous and excited all at once, Sansa nodded. Moving his hand to the back of her neck, Sandor sat up and slowly brought his mouth down to hers. Sansa closed her eyes just before his lips touched hers, and when they did, everything seemed to freeze. It was so much different from last night when she'd kissed him. Now his lips firmly pressed back into hers, moving ever so slightly, eating at her mouth with slow, soft, wet love bites. Sansa felt off balance so she grabbed hold of his shoulders to ground herself. Head swimming, she tried to match his movements, but then he angled his head to the side and forced her mouth open with his, his tongue slipping in to slid against hers. It was a shock, a delicious, spin tingling, blood heating shock. She gasped, but he just swallowed it and licked inside of her mouth with more purpose. Her belly tightened, her womb clenched, her center became damp and achy and she tried to get closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He helped by hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her to sit sideways in his lap, the hand on her hip rubbing slowly up and down her waist, leaving a trial of fire in its wake.

Just when she thought she'd pass out from lack of oxygen, he started to pull away by small degrees, leaving her with smaller kisses before moving across her cheek and jawline to her neck. Shifting restlessly, Sansa let her head fall back to give him more room, a little moan escaping her. Almost in response, he groaned and his hand clenched on her hip, pulling her closer to him, which reminded her what was underneath her. He was hard and solid and she could actually feel the heat coming from him through the layers of their clothing. She wondered if it hurt him to be that hard, that swollen. Against her neck she could feel the scrap of his burn scars, the hot, wet slid of his tongue, and the occasional sting of his teeth. It rose goosebumps along her skin and her body started to tremble. She ached all over, other parts of her screaming out to be touched by him. But the hand on her hips held fast, the other clutched the bend of her knee. Neither seemed to be in the process of moving where she wanted them. She realized that she would probably have to ask him. The thought mortified her, but was only slightly less unpleasant then having him not touch her at all.

"Sandor." she gasped his name, hanging on to his neck with one arm for dear life. He hummed against her throat, but nothing more. She was hoping he'd somehow decipher what she wanted from just saying his name. His mouth did work back up to her mouth, which she accepted hungrily. Not knowing how to ask for what she wanted, or being too embarrassed to say the words, Sansa used her free arm to grab his hand on her knee and lift it to her breasts, which screamed for his touch. Sandor froze, pulling away from her mouth slightly, but leaving his hand on her breast. Looking at her, Sansa could see the question in his eyes.

"Don't stop." she whispered, pressing her hand more firmly over his. A noise close to a growl rumbled from his throat and the grey in his eyes seemed to spark as he dove back for her mouth, his hand squeezing her flesh. He lit her on fire with his touch. He was gentle, but firm and sure and she was nothing more than a mass of sensation. When he lay her back on the bed and started to remove her nightdress, she ran her fingers through his hair, dropping kisses on his face where she could reach. His body was stunning, but it was also a map of pain. A living testimate to the harshness he'd dealt with in life. She touched each scar she could see, willing each story of pain behind them away.

"Easy." Sandor whispered in her ear when he slid two fingers inside of her. "Let me warm you up." Sansa gasped, then shook her head.

"No, I want you inside me when that happens this time." Sandor groaned and closed his eyes, dropping his forehead to hers.

"It's been a long time." he panted. "I don't know if I can last long enough for you."

"I don't care." She didn't really understand what he meant, but she didn't want to wait any longer for him.

"Might still hurt." he warned her, angling his hips so he was at her enterance. For a second, Sansa had a flashback to the first time they were like this. She looked up at Sandor and thought of how much had changed since then. She hadn't even touched him that night. Lifting both hands, she threaded her fingers inside the sides of his hair.

"I trust you." she whispered. He nodded and braced both forearms on either side of her and started slowly thrusting forward. He was right. There was still the burning sense of being stretched to accomodate him, but it wasn't near as bad as she remembered it being the first time.

"Oh, God." Sansa squeezed her eyes shut when he was fully inside of her. It felt hard to breath.

"Look at me." he growled and Sansa forced her eyes open to look up at him. She opened her mouth to draw in more air and her eyes stung. She let her hands fall from his hair to cup his cheeks.

"I can feel your heartbeat inside of me." she whispered in awe. Sandor's eyes squeezed shut and he turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

"I can feel yours, too." he rasped, then started to move. "God, I've missed this." he took hold of her wrist and moved it to his back so he could lean forward and kiss her as he moved. "Missed you holding me. Missed the way you moved with me. The way you fit me." he spoke between dropping kisses to her face and neck, his voice broken with his movements. She wanted to tell him she had missed him, too. That she had dreamed of him so many nights, that it was him that she had thought about all those nights alone. But she couldn't find her voice, so she just held him tighter and tried to move with him. When she reached her peak and broke apart, it felt like the only thing that was keeping her from getting blown away by the storm still raging outside was the man moving above her. But that would be fitting, since he was the only thing keeping her safe in this world anyway. It wasn't but a few seconds later that he was pulling himself from her body to spill his seed on her belly. She was confused at that, and thought about asking him why he did it, but decided against it. Everything had been perfect. She didn't want to ruin it with silly questions. He stayed knelt over her for a long time, his head buried in her shoulder as they both regained their breath and their composure. Eventually, though, he sat up and Sansa shivered, suddenly aware of how cold it was in the room now that she was covered in a sheen of sweat and...well, Sandor's pleasure. He sat back on his heels and stared at her belly for a long moment, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

"Sorry." he finally said, stepping out of the bed and grabbing the towel he'd used earlier off the floor and coming back to wipe her stomach clean.

"It's alright." she assured him with a smile and a hand on his forearm. He nodded and finished cleaning her off before tossing the towel again.

"I'm gonna go stoke the fire." he told her, smoothing her hair back with one hand. "Get dressed before you catch a cold." Soon they were both once again laying in the bed, though this time she was laying on her back with her head on his chest and he was brushing out her tangled hair with his fingers.

"If this is what happens when you spend all day in bed, we should do this all the time." he joked and Sansa laughed.

"I don't think Bronn would appreciate that."

"Probably not." he agreed. "Maybe just once a week, then."

"We do spend every night in this bed together, husband dear." she reminded him. "I don't think we need to spend the entire day just to get that done."

"Fair point." he chuckled. "But I've enjoyed the whole day. Not just the fuckin'." Sansa scoffed and slapped at his shoulder.

"Such coarse language." she reprimanded him.

"You married a coarse man, Mrs. Clegane." he caught her hand before she could slap him again and kissed the tip of each finger causing Sansa to sigh.

"I've enjoyed it to. It's been nice getting to know you."

"It's not nice, and you know it." he reminded her and Sansa bit her lip at the sad reminder.

"If you could do anything," she decided to change the subject. "what would it be?"

"Hmm." he shifted while he thought. "I'd say I'd like to fuck my wife again." Sansa gasped, but then laughed. He was incorrigible.

"Sandor." she sighed, shaking her head.

"No, If I could do anythin', I'd catch that bastard of an ex of yours. Put a piece of hot lead in 'em." Fear so acute it made Sansa almost sick rushed through her and she flipped over so she could face him.

"No, please Sandor. You can't." His face went hard as his brow furrowed.

"Can't what?"

"You can't go after him. Please, Sandor." she was almost sobbing, her eyes stinging.

"He killed your parents, Sansa." he reminded her angrily. "He hit you and now he's after you. You can't tell me you don't want justice." Sansa swallowed hard and looked away from him. She was sure he was put out with the fact that his wife was proving to be a coward.

"Who's justice?" she asked, looking back at him. "Yours? The one found at the end of a pistol. Or maybe Sheriff Umber's, which will end with Joffrey's family paying off some judge to get him out of jail. Or since they were my parents, don't you think maybe I deserve my own justice? One that would see my parents proud of me, one that involves growing old with my husband surrounded by my children and grandchildren." At the mention of children, Sandor blanched and Sansa quickly looked away. "I don't want to see you hang, Sandor." she looked back at him and wiped her tears away. "Please don't go looking for him." Sandor sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"I ain't goin' lookin' for him." he finally said. "But ain't waitin' on no fuckin' ambush either. And I can't promise you he won't find his justice at the end of my pistol." Sansa decided it was the best she could ask for from a man like him, so she didn't argue any more. All she could do was hope and pray that Joffrey wouldn't find them, although she knew deep down in her heart that he would. He would find her here and destroy the happiness she'd managed to find with Sandor, and the love that she thought was maybe growing between them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always felt sort of bad for Lollys in the books. I don't know. So this is me vindicating her for myself lol.
> 
> Also, Jaime is NOT Joffrey's uncle/father in this story. There's not relation between them and they don't know each other.

With the risk of Joffrey finding her, or of someone turning her in now, Sandor insisted she come with him to work daily. She stayed at the main house with Lollys, where there were a suspicious amount of armed men walking about. When Sansa asked Lollys about them, she'd told Sansa they were new so Sansa deduced they were hired by her husband to keep watch on the house.

The days were long, but thankfully Lollys turned out to be rather good company. She wasn't near as quiet as she was at church services or at social events in town, nor was she as simple as some of the towns folk had made her out to be. They actually had a rather lot in common. Both of them enjoyed embroidery and piano and they'd both lost their parents. And they were both married to ex notorious outlaws. Sansa had deemed it safe to tell her about the situation, and they were talking about it on the back porch while drinking tea towards the end of the day, watching as Bronn and Sandor stood in the round pen inspecting a few new cows.

"Do you love him?" Lollys asked after a lull in conversation. Sansa was startled by the question, more because most people just assumed women loved their husbands on the grounds they were their husbands.

"I don't know." Sansa answered her honestly. "I think I might be starting to." Lollys nodded, looking back out at the men.

"I fell in love with Bronn the second I seen him." she laughed lightly, surprising Sansa again. She'd heard the stories around town, of how Bronn, the conniving outlaw, had decieved the simple minded Lollys into marriage. Lollys obviously recognized Sansa surprise.

"I know." she sighed. "There's the public story, the one everyone knows, but theres also my story. The story of us. You see, Bronn never coaxed me into marriage. He and a few others tried to steal some of the cattle one night. One of daddy's hands caught 'em, shot at 'em. They all ran off, but Bronn had been shot a few times. I found him the next evenin', hold up in one of the empty stalls in the barn."

"Did you tell your father?" Sansa asked.

"No." Lollys smiled at the memory. "Like I said, I think I fell for him right that second. I tended to his wounds, dressed them and brought him food and a blanket. It was the third day when I was with him that one of the hands found us. I begged my daddy not to kill him or turn him in. When he asked why, I told him because I was in love with him." Lollys laughed then. "Oh, you should of seen Bronn's face. I told him later it was a lie just to keep him alive. That it was all I could come up with."

"How did you manage to convince your father to spare him?"

"Look at me, Sansa." Lollys motioned to herself, and her rather robust figure. "Daddy wasn't a blind man. Wasn't a man in Bilson wanted to marry me. He knew that. And he didn't have no sons and he knew he needed someone to run the ranch once he was gone. So he and Bronn made a deal. And part of that was the public story that Bronn brainwashed me into the marriage."

"So you saved him." Sansa smiled at that. It was a much better story then the public one.

"He saved me too, in his own way." Lollys sighed. "He ain't ever gonna love me like I love him, but he does care for me. And I won't ever be alone because of him." Sansa swallowed against a thick throat and sniffed. She almost wished she could do for Sandor what Lollys had done for Bronn and be his heroine. But Sandor was her hero, and he'd done the saving. The men finished up their work and joined them on the back porch and Sansa watched closely as Bronn went to Lollys and offered her a hand to help her stand. She could actually see the love shinning in Lollys' eyes and she wondered how Bronn missed that, or if he seen it. But then he gave her a loud smack of a kiss on the cheek and a light smack on the rear as he ushered her in the house and wondered just how much he cared for her as well.

"Ready to go home?" Sandor asked her and she looked up at him. She wondered if he thought anything like Lollys did, if maybe she had saved him in some little way in return for his saving her.

"More than." she linked her arm with his and together they headed home.

The next few days went by just the same, and then Friday evening Bronn had asked them to stay for supper, which Sansa insisted on helping Lollys cook. To her surprise they were joined by friend of Bronn's, a man named Jaime. He lived in Dodge City, working for the governor. The two men had fought in the war together.

"Lovely food, ladies." Jaime commented halfway through the meal. "Sansa, I don't think believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting you before on my trips to Bilson." Sansa glanced quickly at Sandor who met her gaze evenly.

"No, I'm not orginally from Bilson."

"And where do ladies as pretty as yourself orginate from?" Sansa laughed a bit uncomfortably and could almost feel the tension come from Sandor.

"She's from New York." Sandor bit out, glareing at the other man.

"New York." Jaime seemed impressed, or maybe he was just mocking Sandor. "What brought you all the way down here?"

"I sent off for her." Sandor said before Sansa could answer, and she almost swallowed her tongue. Mail order brides weren't unusual, especially in places like Bilson where men far outnumbered women. Lollys flushed and Bronn outright laughed.

"I hadn't realized mail order brides could be so pretty." Jaime ignored Sandor's scowl. "Maybe I'll look into it."

"Maybe you should." Sandor snapped, brutally stabbing a knife into his steak. Bronn saved them from the tense silence the followed, although Jaime only seemed amused by it, and the rest of the dinner went well. Afterwards, the group of them all went to the front porch together to say farewells.

"It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Clegane." Jaime was the last one to come up to her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. "I hope to see you again." Sansa laughed at his actions. It had been so long since someone had done such a gesture that it seemed silly now.

"And you as well." she stepped back and linked her arm through Sandor's. The trip home was made in silence and Sansa wondered what had him so upset. Dinner had gone rather well, other then Jaime's prying into her past, but she thought they'd smoothed that over rather well. Even though she was more comfortable around him, she was still unsure as to how to handle his mood swings so she just remained silent. When they made it home, she left him in the barn to stable Stranger and went in to start the coffee. She was in the middle of doing just that when hands enclosed her hips and pressed her into the counter. A scream died in her throat when her head whipped around to find Sandor standing behind her.

"Sandor." she placed a hand over her pounding heart. "You scared me."

"You have a good time at dinner?" he asked, an odd tone in his voice. Sansa tried to turn around and face him, but he held her firmly against the counter.

"I suppose so." she settled for angling her head back but he dipped his head and skimmed the nape of her neck with his nose and she trembled, confused but also turned on.

"Jaime wants you." he growled into her hair, causing her eyes to snap open. He released his grip on her hips to run up the curve of her waist and cup her breasts through her dress. Her body reacted to him, arching into his touch and heating, but her mind stalled on his words.

"What are you talking about, Sandor?" she asked, a little out of breath.

"I'm talkin' 'bout how that pretty, rich jackass wanted to fuck my wife." he finished his sentence by nipping her ear. Sansa was outraged at his words, but when he lifted the skirts of her dress and cupped her mound, she forgot for a second why she should be mad. "My wife." he growled again, dipping her hand inside of her undershorts.

"Sandor," she panted his name, then moaned when he strummed that bundle of nerves. "I don't think..." and she couldn't talk when he thrust a finger inside of her. A second later her undershorts were jerked down to her ankles and Sandor was kicking her legs apart. "Sandor," she tried to turn around again, but he pressed her shoulders forward.

"My wife, God damnit." he said a second before he surged into her from behind. Sansa cried out, the new position shoving him deeper then he'd been before. "Mine, you hear me?" he ground out as he slammed into her again and again. "No one elses. Say it." he snarled. "Say your mine!" Sansa was so confused, so off kilter. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly and she was having no time to filter through his words and his actions or her reactions. But she didn't think she liked what he was doing. Not physically, though. What he was actually doing felt quite amazing. But there seemed to be an underlying motive to his actions and that was what she didn't like.

"Say it, Sansa." he slammed into her again, her hips hitting the counter so hard she was sure she'd be bruised after. It took her a moment to remember what he'd wanted her to say.

"Your's, Sandor." she managed to get out. He groaned, a broken sounded, and thrust harder a few more times before pulling out and spilling onto the kitchen floor.

"Damn right, your mine." he panted against her ear and a surge of red hot anger nearly blinded her. Shoving with every ounce of her strength against the counter, she got him to move off of her and she knelt down and lifted her undershorts before turning and slapping him as hard as she possibly could across the face. It hurt her palm but she didn't feel guilty. Storming past him, she went out to the front porch and started crying. It was a few minutes later that the door opened and shut and she assumed Sandor had come out. She turned further from the door, insistant on him not seeing her cry. She was so mad at him her entire body was shaking and she was having trouble regulating her breath.

"Guess I deserved that." He finally said and Sansa spun around on him.

"You guess?" she repeated in disgust. "Sandor, you used me like a whore to, to, what? Brand me? Mark me like a dog? Claim me somehow? How dare you even consider the possibility that I would be turned by some pretty face and a fat wallet. How dare you! I've given you my whole trust. Don't you think I deserve just a little of yours?" Sandor nodded, running his kuckles along his burn scars.

"Wouldn't be a soul in this town that'd blame you for steppin' out on me, 'specially with a man like that."

"You are my husband, Sandor." she said emphatically. "You are a good man." at his raised brow she almost rolled her eyes. "A fundamentally good man. And I don't want anyone else." he was quite for a long time, looking past her at the darkness.

"Seems to me a good man would of released you from this marriage when he showed back up." he looked back at her. "Let you find a better man." Pressure built behind Sansa's eyes again and her nose started tickling with the urge to cry. This time for him. He had such a fractured vision of himself.

"I don't want a better man." she took a step closer to him, settling a hand on his chest. "I want you. The man who let some broken and hungry stranger have everything he owned out of the kindness of his heart. The man who didn't kick her out to fend for herself when he came back." she lifted her hand and touched his face. "The man she's starting to fall in love with." His eyes widened with a look of shock and panic and he gripped her wrist like he wanted to pull her hand away from him but didn't.

"It's okay, Sandor." she smiled even though his reaction stung a bit. "You don't have to say anything." she lifted on her toes and kissed his chin, then his lips. "But I do think it's my turn to claim you." she went back to flat footed and took his hand in hers. He didn't resist as she pulled him into the bedroom. Kneeling on the bed, she worked the buttons of his shirt to where it was tucked into his pants, then pulled the material free. "Do you trust me, Sandor?" she asked him, running her hands up his torso. His chest billowed in and out with his heavy breathing.

"I do." his voice was hoarse and Sansa smiled to herself. He may not love her, and like Lollys had said of Bronn, he may never. But he did care for her. She knew that.

"Good." she kissed his cloth covered chest, then pulled his shirt up until he had to take over in removing it. His undershirt followed. "Then let me love you." She took her time kissing down his chest and torso, not wanting to miss and inch or a scar, wanting to possess him as thoroughly as he had her. His fingers combed through her hair, removing the pins until the tresses fell in a curtain around her shoulders. He gathered it in his hand as his muscles flexed under his skin, which was baby soft in the dips of his hips.

"Take your pants off." she told him, lifting her head and scooting back on the bed while she undid the buttons of her dress and lifted it off of her and tossed it over the side. After releasing the laces of her corset and doing the same with it and her shift, Sandor crawled over her body, now fully naked himself, and kissed her until she couldn't breath. But this wasn't what she wanted. Pressing against his chest, she shoved him away from her.

"No." she shook her head. "It's my turn." she rolled them until he was the one laying on his back and she was straddling his thighs, his manhood sticking up between their bodies, angled up towards his navel. It was the first time she'd actually seen it and an irrational panic filled her. She knew it would fit, because it had, but she couldn't see how. And her plan to own him faltered when she realized she had no clue what to do now. She looked up at him and he must have seen the question in her eyes.

"Anythin' you wanna do." he told her. "Touch it, stroke it, squeeze it. Nothin' you do is gonna hurt." he grinned. "Or I'll tell ya if it does." Sansa took a deep breath and ran the palm of her hand up the length of him. His body tightened, his jaw locking. She let her fingers trail across the flared head, where the foreskin opened to the head of him, a bead of wetness there. She lifted the shaft, weighed it in her hand, then glanced up at his face and gave him a gentle squeeze. His mouth opened and the air left him in a whoosh, his stomach muscles tightening so hard he lifted off the bed slightly.

"Did that hurt?" she asked, unsure.

"No." he said quickly. "You could do it again." So she did, enthralled with his reaction and her own. It thrilled her to have this sort of power over such a big, strong man. Since he seemed to enjoy the pressure, she kept her hand tightened on him and moved her hand up and down on him, grinning to herself when he started moving his hips with her.

"Here." he took her free hand and made her cup the heavy sacks beneath his base. "Not too hard." He didn't close his eyes again this time. Instead he ran his hands up her stomach and chest, lifting her breasts and toying with her nipples. She managed to look away from what she was doing him to find him watching her intently, his mouth open slightly, his high cheekbones slashed with color, his eyes blazing. He was stunning.

"You need to stop." he groaned, stilling the movements of his hips.

"Why?" she asked, almost equally out of breath.

"I'm gonna fuckin' come if you keep goin'." Sansa thought for a moment. Maybe that was something she wanted to watch happen. But she'd seen it happen. Many times now, actually, and amazing as it was it wasn't what she wanted. He'd found release once already, in the kitchen when she hadn't. She wanted them to find it together this time.

"I think you should be a gentleman and wait for me this time." she grinned down at him, then rolled to her back. He followed her, raining kisses along her throat and collarbone.

"I shouldn't of done that back there." he rasped along her ear. "Wasn't right, usin' you like that. Won't happen again." Sansa grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head back so she could see his face.

"It wasn't the act I took offense to, Sandor." she explained to him. "It was your purpose behind it. If something like that is to take place between us, it'll be to give each other pleasure, a physical way to express the promises we've made. Nothing more." Sandor nodded, his eyes hooded, turning his face to kiss her palm, then her wrist.

"You seem overdressed, little bird." he untied her undershorts, then tossed them over his shoulder. Pushing her thighs apart, he settled his big body between them, his hardness pressed firmly against her softness. She gasped at the contact, rolled her hips against him almost without thought.

"Wrap your legs around me." he urged her, placing one leg there himself and Sansa did the other. Once she was holding him, her calves pressed along the sides of his thighs, her thighs gripping his hips, he gripped her shoulders and flipped them, causing Sansa to let out a surprised squeal when she was suddenly back on top of him, this time straddling his hips, his manhood riding her wet and aching folds.

"Sandor." Sansa leaned forward to clutch his chest, her fingers tangling into the hair there. This new position increased the pressure of him against her, and it felt wonderful. She could actually feel herself pulsing against him. "I don't know what to do."

"You've rode a horse." he grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. Sansa nodded. "It's a lot like that. 'Cept this time, you'll be ridin' me." He lifted both hands to her shoulders, ran his open palms down her front to her hips. "Like this." he started rocking her hips against him, sliding her along his length. The friction it caused made Sansa moan, her fingers clenching even tighter into his chest muscles. It felt good, a little overwhelming, but Sansa was confused.

"I thought," she stopped to gasp when he pulled her forward again. "I thought you were supposed to be inside me."

"That comes next." he grunted, his fingers tightening on her hips. "Lift up on your knees." She did and once she was off of him, he let go of her with one hand to lift his member up for her. Sansa looked from it to him. She knew what would have to come next. She would need to put him inside of her and lower herself. Shifting forward, she lifted a little more until he was touching her entrance.

"Go slow." he told her. "Or not." he chuckled. "You decide like this." Sansa decided slow would be best for now, until she got used to what she was doing. And when she sank all the way down on him, she arched her back at the new feeling. He felt different like this. Forcing her eyes open, she looked down at Sandor, who was still watching her, his face and body tight. She leaned forward, which caused her to moan loudly again, and kissed him.

"I love you, Sandor." she whispered to him as she started to move like he'd showed her. His eyes closed like her words hurt him, his hands coming up to thread into her hair and grip her tightly. She leaned back slightly, bracing her weight on his chest wit her hands.

"Look at me." she told him, moving against him with more purpose, the sensations overloading her. His eyes opened immediately, carefully blank. She thought about the life he'd lived, of the lack of affection he'd received in his life. A man like Sandor Clegane wouldn't be able to accept love easily, and it would be even harder for him to give it. And she found in that moment she didn't mind all that much. She would love him to the best of her ability, and just like with his letters, he would eventually learn. And maybe he would one day love her in return.

"I love you, Sandor." she told him again, more firmly this time. "Thank you for saving me. Thank you for protecting me." a sob wrenched from her throat as her body drew closer to release. "Yes, Sandor, I am yours." she told him what he'd wanted to hear earlier. "And you are mine." He sat up then, so suddenly it startled Sansa, but he wrapped an arm around her hips and helped guide her movements faster and more firmly, one armed braced behind him. His mouth took hers in a kiss so ferocious Sansa thought both their lips would be bruised come morning. And she didn't care. She just wanted more of him. He held her like that while she came, whispering words she couldn't quite make out while his hand ran up and down her spine, sending spirals of tingles everywhere. For a second she thought she was falling, but when her back hit the mattress, she realized Sandor had just lay her back underneath him. He was still hard within her, moving almost desperately.

"Say it again." his voice confused her, he sounded almost as if he were begging. She looked up into eyes so vulnerable her heart swelled in her chest. "Say those words again." It took her a moment to realize what it was he wanted her to say and when she did, her heart damn near broke.

"I love you." she whispered, and he buried his face in her throat and if he hadn't been so close she might have missed the sob that shook his large frame. But then he was gone from her again, the warmth from his release coating her stomach. It was the next morning at breakfast before Sansa dared bring it up. Sandor was sitting across from her, as usual, digging into his plate of hash browns and sausage gravy.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked hesitantly. He glanced up from his plate, and Sansa almost backed out right then. But she figured she was owed an explanation.

"What's that?"

"When we, um, have...relations,"

"Relations?" Sandor interrupted her, an amused tone in his voice. "Is that what you call it?"

"It's a perfectly acceptable word for it." she huffed.

"So is fucking. Or sex." he chuckled. "There's a million words for it, little bird, and all of them are better then 'relations'."

"Fine." she snapped, irritated that she'd gotten off track. "When we have sex," she was quite proud that she hardly stumbled over the word. "why is it that you, um, remove yourself from me before you find release?" Sandor went deathly still for a second, his eyes and face going hard before going completely blank and he looked away.

"Simple." he started eating again. "Don't wanna take the chance of gettin' you pregnant." That's what she figured. And also what she feared.

"Yes, but, why?" then a thought occurred to her. Joffrey was hunting her down. Surely a baby right now wouldn't be a good idea. And Sandor was just getting started with the cattle business with Bronn. Maybe he just wanted to wait until things got settled. "Do you want to wait a while, maybe until after Joff..."

"There ain't no waitin'." he snapped, standing up so quickly his chair tipped over. "'Cause there ain't gonna be no damn kids." with that, he threw his fork down next to his plate and stormed out of the house, leaving Sansa sitting stunned at the table, at both his words and his reaction. Her shock quickly gave way to anger of her own. Not so much at his words. If he didn't want children, that was something they could discuss. She was sure he had his reasons, and even if wasn't something she would gladly accept, it was something she would try and deal with or maybe try and change his mind. But she would not accept him speaking to her that way, or acting in such a way. But she also knew he probably needed a moment to cool down before she spoke to him, so she gave him that while she cleaned up the kitchen and let her own anger ebb. It was chilly outside so she pulled on her shawl and went outside. He wasn't on the porch but she found him in the barn, starting to hook Stranger up to the wagon.

"We need to talk, Sandor." she kept a distance between them, not that she feared him in any way, but she figured it would make him feel better. Less pressured maybe.

"There won't be not talkin'." he said without looking up from his work. "I told you. There won't be no kids."

"That isn't what I want to talk about, although we most certainly will come back to that and discuss it." he finally glanced up at her when he caught her hard tone. "You can't speak to me like you just did in there." she pointed back towards the house. "And I will not stand for you to throw things and knock furniture over. I'm a human being, Sandor, and an adult. Your wife. And you can talk to me as such." Sandor sighed loudly, leaning forward to grab hold of the side of the wagon and closing his eyes.

"Damnit, Sansa." he scrubbed a hand roughly over his face. "I ain't ever spent time around ladies. Proper ones like you." he looked up at her, still holding onto the wagon. "I never even considered havin' a wife before. I don't know what the hell I'm doin'." Most of her anger left her then and she crossed the space between them to place a hand on his shoulder.

"I know." she said softly. "We're both still learning. But I'm not someone who is here just to take orders from you, Sandor. I'm your wife. We're in this together, as a partnership. Which means we need to discuss things and make decisions together. If you don't want children, I think I at least deserve an explanation for it other then a flat denial." Sandor let go of the wagon then, turning so he leaned back against it, his hands going to Sansa's hips to hold her close.

"A man like me," he trailed off for a moment, looking for the words. Then his eyes met hers. "There's one thing I came to terms with a long time ago, little bird, and that's the fact that no matter how much I don't wanna be, I'm a lot like my pa. I ain't ever gonna be a good enough man to raise good men." he lifted a hand to trace her jawline. "Think I'm pressin' my luck by bein' married to you."

"Oh, Sandor." Sansa closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into his chest. "You're wrong." she lifted her head to look up at him. "I didn't know your father, but I can promise you, you are absolutely nothing like him. You are a wonderful husband, and I think you'd make a fine father. Besides," she smiled up at him. "what you lack in softness I can make up for. And what I lack in sturdiness you can make up for. I think we'd make a perfect set of parents, Sandor." He shook his head, but his eyes were unsure. Sansa decided not to press him any further for right now. Regardless of her desire to be a mother some day, now wasn't exactly the right time to be starting a family.

"Come on." she went on tip toe to drop a kiss to his cheek. "Let's get you to work."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weekend update!! Because I'm the only person in the Midwest that deplores college football and I needed something to do :)

Sandor spent most of his nights awake, as usual, but now it was in anxious fear. And not for himself. He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow to look down at Sansa, sleeping fitfully. Since the night she told him she loved him, he'd been more on edge. It had to be some sort of joke, some cruel twist of fate and any second the other foot would drop and something horrible would happen. If he let himself believe it, open himself up to it and accept it and love her back, it would make it that much worse when things went to hell. And they would. They always did. Either the Lannister cunt would find them and take her from him in one way or another, or some fucking big shot would come around sooner or later, wanting to take down the notorious Hound just to say he did it. Either way, he wouldn't be able to keep her forever. He wouldn't be able to make her happy the way she seemed to think he could. But damned if he wished he could.

He fell asleep for a few hours before the sun started to rise and together they got up, Sansa dressing in her Sunday best for church. She had asked him several times to come with her, and he told her what they shared together at night was the closest he'd ever come to heaven so there was no sense in it. Redemption was something out of the question for him. She seemed upset by that, but hadn't pressured him any more although he figured it wouldn't be the last he heard of it. He took her into the church as usual, then went into town to talk with deputy Martell until services let out. Oberyn was one of the few other men in town that didn't attend services, and although Sandor had wanted to strangle the other man when he'd thought Sansa had turned to him after he'd left, the two had become something close to friends lately.

"Any word on Lannister?" he asked his usual question as soon as he stepped in the jailhouse. Oberyn sat at the desk, Jon Umber at the church with his wife and kids, the chair tipped back and his feet propped up on the desk.

"Nothing new." Oberyn fingered a dagger in his hand, then tossed it with practiced ease at a wanted poster on the wall. Sandor glanced at it. There were plenty of slash marks on it, proving it wasn't the first throw Oberyn had made. And all of them were almost perfectly centered around the mans head.

"Bored?" he asked, jerking the knife out of the wall, the blade firmly embedded into the wood.

"Out of my mind." Oberyn laughed. "You look like shit, Clegane." Sandor grinned. Oberyn may have been a deputy, but he had the tongue of a viper.

"Had a long night." he handed the knife back to Oberyn, who retained his relaxed pose and Sandor dropped into the chair opposite him.

"There all long nights when you don't sleep." he eyed Sandor with his head tilted to the side. Sandor met his gaze evenly. He was used to other men looking at him curiously. He was an oddity. A giant amongst men, a terror with his ravaged face and fearsome reputation. Most didn't continue to look when Sandor met there eyes. Oberyn was different, though. He neither flinched nor looked away. It occurred to Sandor that maybe he wasn't the only man who had sleepless nights. He vaguely wondered what it was that kept the other man awake at nights, but didn't dwell to long on it. He had enough of his own problems at the moment.

The two of them spent the next hour talking, mostly about their time in war, before Sandor left to retrieve Sansa. He was later than normal, Stranger having broken his ties and Sandor having to rig up new ones, and by the time he got there most of the crowd was gone. Sansa was normally easy to spot with her fiery hair, but today he didn't see her in the small gathering. His stomach dropped as he pulled the horse up and jumped from the buckboard. It was brother Luwin who broke from the small group and met him.

"Where's Sansa?" Sandor snapped, looking beyond the old man, thinking he may have just missed her.

"She's gone." Luwin said calmly, and when Sandor looked at him there was a confused look on his face.

"Gone?" Sandor growled, adrenaline rushing up and making his muscles tremble. "What do you mean she's gone?" his yelling brought about the attention of the people that were left, some of the women covering their mouths in horror at his outburst.

"A man came and got her." Luwin explained. "I hadn't..."

"A man?" Sandor grabbed the mans shirt collar. "What man? His name, preacher!"

"He didn't say." Luwin said calmly, unfazed by Sandor's anger. "He just said he was her father." Cold dread filled Sandor's belly and he released the old mans shirt and he stepped back. Two of the men that had been standing back now stepped forward.

"Her fathers dead." Sandor couldn't quite catch his breath. His head was swimming. Sansa was gone. "What did he look like?" It couldn't have been Joffrey. He wasn't old enough to pass as her father.

"An old man, around my age, I'd say. Bald with whiskers. Stern face, green eyes." Luwin shook his head. "Is she in some sort of trouble?"

"I'd say she is." This from one of the men standing behind Luwin, a man Sandor hadn't paid attention to until now. It was Ramsay Bolton, the town butcher, his fiancé Jeyne hanging from his arm.

"You don't know a damn thing about it." Sandor growled.

"You mean about the kidnapping?" Ramsay asked innocently. "About her forced marriage to you? Her poor fiancé has been looking for her for months." Sandor stalked the other man, a flash of fear entering his eyes as he towered over him.

"So you thought you'd take it upon yourself to save her, huh?" Sandor snarled, glaring down at him. "Get a nice chunk of money in exchange? Some bloody fuckin' hero you are."

"At least he got her away from the likes of you." Jeyne squawked but Sandor didn't look away from Ramsay.

"Where did they go?"

"How would I know?" Sandor grabbed him my his shirt and lifted him to his toes.

"Where. Did. They. Go?" Sandor spat each word in the other mans face. Ramsay flushed, his hands gripping Sandor's wrists but he clenched his jaw tightly. Sandor was going to break it.

"Sandor, stop it!" The voice beside him was a surprise. He spared the woman a glance, finding Lollys watching him with wide eyes.

"They took her." Sandor seethed. "He let them take her." he gave Ramsay a shake.

"I know." Lollys said gently. "I seen the wagon leaving town when Bronn stopped at the merchant." Sandor released the other man in a second, spinning around to face Lollys.

"Where?" he demanded. "Which way?"

"Bronn is waiting for you at the jailhouse." she explained. "He's already informed deputy Martell who went to find sheriff Umber. We need to be quick." Sandor had stopped listening when she said jailhouse. He ran to the wagon and cut Stranger loose before jumping onto his back and kicking him into a neck break speed. He reached the jailhouse in record time, dismounting the horse before he'd come to a complete stop, just remembering to tie the horse off before sprinting inside.

And that's where he found Bronn and Oberyn, standing over a bleeding Umber.

"What the fuck happened?" Sandor demanded.

"Met 'em leavin' the church." Umber coughed. "There's two of 'em. A young kid and an old man. Got her in the back of a wagon, hands tied behind her back." Umber coughed again, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. "She's fine, though." Sandor swallowed several times against the overwhelming panic tried to overtake him.

"Which way, Jon." Sandor asked, kneeling down next to him. "Which way'd they take her?"

"South, up through Waywards Pass." Sandor stood up then, making to leave when a hand clamped around his arm. He spun around to face Bronn.

"What are you doin', Clegane?"

"Goin' after her."

"Alone?" Bronn raised a brow. Sandor yanked his arm out of Bronn's grasp, his entire body shaking with the pent up need to act.

"I've gotta get her."

"I'll come with you." Oberyn said, picking up a rifle from behind the desk and tossing it to Sandor before grabbing another off the wall. "Bronn, stay with him. Wait for doc Colemon to get here."

~

Sansa sat quietly in the back of the wagon. Her finger tingled from her wrists being bound, but she wouldn't utter a word of complaint. She turned her head to look behind them, wondering how much distance had grown between them and Bilson. Between her and Sandor. He would come after her, of that she was certain. But would he find her? Would he get there in time? If Joffrey got her on a train, there would be no hope, she feared. She had to do something to slow down their progress.

"We need to stop." she finally said, bringing about both Joffrey and his grandfathers gazes.

"Whatever for, my love?" Joffrey sneered and Sansa wanted to slap him.

"There are certain bodily functions that a lady must take care of." she said indignantly.

"You can hold it." Tywin said easily.

"No, Mr. Lannister, I cannot." she snapped. "Now, you must stop this wagon or I shall make quite a mess in the back of it for you."

"Come on, grandfather." Joffrey sighed. "The sooner we stop, the sooner she'll shut up."

"If I'm so annoying to you, _my love_ , why is it that you've come looking for me?"

"I want Winterfell." Sansa swallowed at the name of her family estate. "And I cannot have it if I do not have you." he said it so simply, as if it were no big deal at all.

"You murdered my parents." she reminded him. "Why would I marry you? What is to stop me from turning you into the authorities?" Tywin had pulled the wagon to a stop by now and Joffrey turned around and grasped her face in his hand, his boney fingers pinching her skin.

"The value you place on your life." he hissed. "That is what will stop you." he released her face with a shove, then jumped out of the wagon, Tywin doing the same. Sansa scooted to the end and Tywin grasped her shoulders and lifted her out and nearly dropped her. Sansa barely managed to keep herself from falling.

"My hands." she turned slightly, indicating her bound wrists.

"You can manage." Joffrey told her.

"No, Joffrey." she shook her head. "I assure you, I cannot manage to do what needs to be done without the use of my hands." Joffrey simply crossed his arms and lifted one brow at her.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Joffrey." Tywin sighed. "Untie the girls hands so she can take a piss and we can leave." Joffrey scowled, huffing a little, but he turned her around and undid the knot on the rope. Sansa pulled her hands before her and rubbed feeling back into her fingers.

"Excuse me." she moved past the men and made for the trees. If she could get a heavy enough branch...but there were two of them. And they both had guns. She just needed to stall for time and trust that Sandor would eventually catch up. Right? Or did she need to act? She'd seen what they'd done to Sheriff Umber. She'd seen the amount of blood had come from the old man. What if that had been Sandor? What if he didn't know there was two of them and came alone?

"Would you hurry?" Sansa jumped, turning to find that Joffrey was following her closely.

"Can I please have a little privacy?" she asked, horrified that he was watching her so closely.

"I'll turn my back once you find your spot." He assured her with a sick grin. She found a dead tree, surrounded by broken limbs and leaves.

"Turn around, please." she told Joffrey, hands on her hips. He grinned again, but turned around. She made movement like she was reaching up under her skirts and kneeling, but she grabbed the biggest, firmest looking branch she could find and gripped it firmly. She had one chance. Just one. If she failed, she would likely get herself killed, but if she succeeded she might just save herself and Sandor. She used her fully body weight, swinging the thick branch like she'd seen Sandor swing an axe when he was chopping wood. It hit the back of Joffrey's head with a loud whack and for a second she thought it wasn't enough. His whole body went taunt, then he crumbled. The thought of hitting him a few more times occurred to her, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she dropped the branch and dug under his limp body for his pistol.

She'd never held a gun before. She'd watched Sandor clean his before and knew the basics and hoped and prayed it would be enough. Lifting it, she pulled back the hammer. It was heavier then she'd expected. Sneaking to the edge of the tree line, she peaked around a tree to see Tywin standing next to the wagon, leaned over the edge and digging side for something. Heart racing wildly, she closed her eyes and found the strength within herself. Gripping the gun, she stepped out of the trees, the gun aimed at Tywin's head.

"Put your hands up." she said, impressed that her voice was a steady as it was. Tywin froze for a moment, then slowly turned around, his hands held out to the sides, palms up. He glanced behind her, presumably looking for Joffrey, then back at her.

"Did you kill him?"

"Take your gun out and toss it to the ground." she instructed him, ignoring his question. He moved his jacket slightly and gripped the butt of his gun. "Slowly." she firmed her grip. With one hand raised, he slowly pulled the gun out with the other.

"Now toss it towards me." When he did, Sansa quickly picked it up. She thought of telling him to unhook one of the horses, but didn't want to wait that long. Joffrey was likely to wake up before then. Shoving one of the pistols in the back of her skirt, she kept the other aimed at Tywin, who seemed far too calm for her liking.

"Move to the tree line and sit." He did, his cold green eyes watching her easily the entire time. Once he was sitting, Sansa quickly climbed up onto the wagon and turned the horses around and snapped them into motion in the direction they'd come from. She'd barely gotten the wagon turned around and moving when she heard a commotion behind her. Turning her head, she seen a man on a horse coming out of the trees. Then there was gunfire.

"Sansa!" her name being shouted came from in front of her and she turned to see a horse and rider in the distance and she could just make out Sandor's form on Stranger barreling towards her. Momentarily forgetting what was happening behind her in the rush of joy and relief at seeing him, she stood up on the buckboard and smiled, lifting a hand to wave at him. Another gunshot rang out and Sansa lurched forward. It felt as if a horse had kicked her in the left shoulder. She barely managed to catch herself before tumbling over the front of the wagon, but when she slumped back onto the buckboard, it seemed as though all her strength has left her and she fell to the side, her world tipping before turning black.

In the distance, she heard her name again. A rough, desperate, animalistic cry.


	8. Chapter 8

Waking up was hard. She felt on the verge of it several times, but had failed each. On some level she was aware she had a fever. Her body was on fire each time consciousness encroached, her body felt heavy and cumbersome, wet with sweat and riddled with pain. The dreams were the worst. Vivid and terrifying. Joffrey laughing as he held a flaming poker to her chest. Tywin watching coldly in the corner as the blood drained from her body. The hardest part was hearing Sandor's cry, over and over on some sort of loop. She screamed and begged for them to let her go, to let her be with him. To end his pain by letting her hold him.

Eventually the fever left, but she still couldn't find wakefulness. Her dreams turned from tormented nightmares to blissful fantasy. She would be back at Winterfell at times, or in their little cottage in the woods. Sandor would be there, his rough hands touching her, his warm scent enveloping her. Once he was cradling a small baby in his arms, shocking red hair curling around her little head and big grey eyes looking up at her father. Another she was embracing her mother, her father shaking Sandor's hand.

"He's mine, daddy." she'd told him. "I want to keep him." Eddard had studied Sandor for a long time, a small smile spreading across his face.

"You are a good man, Sandor Clegane." he had said to him. "Keep my little girl safe. Make her happy."

Darkness overtook the dreams frequently, and that was the easiest. There was no pain, no angst, no wanting or worries. She could forget what she wanted to wake up for, who was waiting for her and why. But that was weakness, so she rebelled against it. Raged and fought and snatched at the little inklings of light she managed to find. Held onto them like a perserver in a swirling ocean. Sandor was out there somewhere. She couldn't leave him alone.

~

Everytime he closed his eyes, he seen it happen again. Oberyn had been behind him, riding hard by not hard enough to keep up with Stranger. The bullet had torn through Sansa's shoulder, jerking her forward, and then she'd fallen to the side, rolling off the wagon and into a heap in the dust.

He wasn't sure what happened after that. Things had turned red for him. Oberyn told him after that he'd gone mad, turned into some sort of animal, told him he'd understood then why he'd gotten the nickname the Hound. Sandor'd ran down Tywin Lannister with Stranger, the horse knocking the old man down. He'd been the one to shoot Sansa, so Sandor had emptied the rifle on him. Apparently Joffrey had been drawing on him from behind, and Oberyn had stopped at Sansa to see to her, but there'd been another man there, someone Sandor had never met before. He'd shot Joffrey once in the shoulder, pulling Sandor's attention around. Sandor emptied his six shooter on the kid.

It hadn't helped anything. The pain and fear he felt was still prevalent and consuming. Killing them hadn't made him feel vindicated at all. Not when Sansa had been in a coma for a week now.

"Doc says she's doin' better." Sandor glanced across the bed at the other man that had just walked in. It was the same man from a week ago. Jory, he'd said his name was, a friend of Sansa's fathers. He'd followed Joffrey and his grandfather to Dodge City when he'd heard they were searching for Sansa, and then on to Bilson once the damned Bolton cunt had sent word of her being here, stalking them like some wolf just waiting for his chance to attack.

"Fever broke yesterday." Sandor hadn't spoke to anyone in the last week, other then Oberyn who'd come to fill him in on what was going on. He'd told him that Jory was staying at the hotel in town and checked in on Sansa every day. Brother Luwin came every evening, but he didn't speak. Just knelt beside Sansa's bed and held her hand, head bowed and eyes closed.

"She's a fighter." Jory gave him a small smile. "Always has been. Got her looks from her momma, but her stubborness from her old man." Sandor looked down at the hand he held in his. It was so small, so fragile feeling. He stroked his thumb across the bones of her knuckles and his throat constricted.

"You love her?" Sandor snapped his gaze up to the other man, who waited patiently at the foot of the bed. At Sandor's scowl, Jory narrowed his eyes.

"Her father was the best friend I ever had." he said firmly. "I was there the day her momma brought her in this world. I was there when she learned to walk, I taught her how to ride a horse. I was the one who locked her in that closet the night her parents died." the other man quickly looked away, gathering himself before looking back at Sandor. "I'm the closest thing shes got left to family. Love her like she was my own child." he gripped the railing of the hospital bed. "And I damn well deserve to know I'm not leavin' her in the hands of a man who don't love her." Sandor clenched his jaw and looked back down at Sansa. She was so fucking pretty it hurt, but there was so much more to her. So much more that he wanted, that he needed.

"I do." he finally said, voice hoarse. "God damnit, I do. And she better fuckin' live, 'cause I don't think I can without her." Jory nodded and pushed off the bed rails.

"Good. Needed to hear that, 'cause I gotta leave in the mornin'. Judge back in Missouri wants to know what happened up here." Jory held his hat in his hands, watching it as he spun it between his fingers. "And since her parent's died, I been keepin' up with the estate." Now Jory looked up at him. "If she wakes up," he stopped and shook his head. "When she wakes up, tell her it's hers. It's always been hers. There should always be a Stark at Winterfell, and it'll be waitin' on her when she wants it." Sandor opened his mouth, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. It didn't matter, though, because Jory was leaving.

It would be another two days of hell before some sort of light could be seen. A light he found in the middle of the night. Sandor was reclined back in the chair next to her bed, like he was every night even though the doctors tried to convince him to leave, not sleeping even though he was so tired his eyes hurt. He was scared. Scared to close his eyes and miss something. Miss her opening her eyes, or trying to speak, or reaching for him. Scared that it might have been the last time any of those things would happen. At first he thought he was dreaming when he found bright blue looking back at him. But then her hand turned under his, her thin fingers lightly gripping three of his fingers.

"Sansa?" Sandor sat forward in his chair so quickly it skidded backwards. She smiled weakly, blinked heavily, but then her eyes opened again. Emotions rushed up, relief so overwhelming he just couldn't stop himself from trembling, but he didn't care. He gently grasped the sides of her face and drew his closer to make sure he was seeing right.

"Sansa, can you hear me?" his voice shook along with his hands. Doc Colemon had said her mind might not be right even if she did wake up, and Sandor almost feared that more than her not waking up at all. She lifted a hand and grasped his wrist weakly and licked her chapped lips.

"Water." her voice was a croaked whisper but it was the most wonderful sound Sandor could have imagined. Grabbing the pitcher on the nightstand, he kept an eye on her while he poured a glass, worried she might fall back asleep.

"Here." he hooked an arm under her head and helped raise her up for a drink. She could handle only a little, then coughed and winced at the pain it caused.

"Lay back." he smoothed her hair out, kissed her forehead. "I'm gonna go get the doc." he stood up straight, still smoothing a hand across her hair. "Please stay awake." his voice was hoarse, ragged. "Please, Sansa, please don't go back to sleep." She nodded and gave him another weak smile.

"Alright." he hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, reluctant to leave her, but knowing a doctor needed to see her. So he ran.

Another week went by before Sandor was allowed to take Sansa back home. To their home.

"I had Ellaria and Lollys come out and clean up yesterday." he told her as he led her inside. Her gunshot wound was mostly healed, but the infection it had caused her had made her weak so she was still moving slow. "And Margaery said she would take care of meals for the next week, so not to worry about it."

"That's really not necessary." She tried to argue, but he sat her in the chair and knelt down in front of her to level her with a glare.

"The hell it isn't." he told her firmly. "You'll do nothin' but heal and get better, you hear me?" Sansa smiled at that, one small hand coming up to cup his cheek.

"Whatever you say, darling." Sandor dropped to his knees to spare his ankles and ran his up and down her thighs softly.

"I sent word to Jory yesterday that you were bein' sent home." her expression turned a little wistfull and sad.

"I'm sorry I missed him." Sandor picked up her hand and ran her fingertips over his lips.

"So was he, but he had buisness." he kissed her knuckles. "Your buisness, little bird." he hadn't told her yet about her families estate and what Jory had said. He didn't want anything to overwhelm her when she was still recovering.

"What do you mean?" her fingers ran through his hair. "Seeing the judge about the Lannisters?"

"Yeah, but there was more. He's been managin' your families estate, keepin' it goin' until all this shit blew over." he watched her face closely as he spoke. "Said it's yours whenever your ready. Whenever you want it." Sansa's eyes teared up and she pulled her hand from his hair to cover her mouth. Sandor instinantly felt bad.

"Shit, Sansa." he tried to sooth her. "I shouldn't have said nothin'. I didn't want to upset you."

"No." she removed her hand, the word coming out on a laugh, but tears still coming down her cheeks. Sandor lifted his brow, confused at her reaction. "No, Sandor. That's wonderful. I'd thought...I'd just assumed that Joffrey had somehow taken it. I had no idea it was still there." Still somewhat confused at her reaction, the tears and laughter at the same time, Sandor decided not to draw attention to it.

"So, you'd wanna leave Bilson, go back to Missouri?" He'd been worried about that. Her reasoning for being married to him was now void. The threat against her was gone, dead. She no longer needed the protection of his name, or of him.

"Maybe for a bit, just to see the old place again and figure out what I want to do with it." she was quite for a moment. "But I don't think I could live there again. Not after...what happened there." she smiled now and traced a line along his nose. "Besides, I like our little cottage. And Bilson. And your business is here." Sandor caught her hand in his and held them together in his at her lap.

"You mean, you mean you still wanna be married to me?" At first there was shock flashing across her pretty face, then confusion.

"Why on Earth would you ask me that, Sandor?" she pulled her hands free of his to hold his. "I told you already, you fool man, I love you." Tears sheened in her eyes and Sandor couldn't help but smile.

"You must be a daft little bird, but I'll keep ya if your not smart enough to fly away."

Sansa healed perfectly, and soon she was back to her normal self. Once she was back on her feet and feeling a hundred percent, Sandor took some time off with Bronn and together he and Sansa went to Missouri. Her old home was a mansion, far grander then anything Sandor had ever stepped foot in, let alone slept in. Since the ranch was doing so well, he and Sansa had agreed to building a bigger house out closer to the land, which was currently underway, and while they were at Winterfell, she'd arranged for several things to be sent back to Bilson.

They'd decided to make Jory a partner in her fathers business, one of the largest flour mills in the States, if he agreed to keep running it like he had been. Jory had been more then happy to do so, even teared up when Sansa told him he would be the Stark at Winterfell.

Once they arrived back home in Bilson, Sandor had to adjust to the idea of this new life. A life that seemed to be working out.

"Do you think my mothers piano will fit in the little alcove of windows in that second room next to ours?" Sansa asked him one evening at supper. "Or will we have to put it in your office?"

"It'll fit in the office fine." he sat his fork down, swallowed down the surge of nervousness that nearly choked him and said, "I was thinkin' that room next to ours would make a good nursery." Sansa completely froze for a second, her eyes widening almost comically, then the biggest smile he'd ever seen grace her lips spread across her face.

"Are you serious, Sandor?" she asked, sounding excited but a little unsure. "Please don't tease."

"I'm not teasin' you, little bird." he assured her. "I got a life now, and a damn good one. Far better than I deserve, and I damn well know it. And," he shifted uncomfortably, unused to declaring his feelings. "I wanna make you happy." Sansa's face fell at that, her eyes tearing up as she pushed her chair back and came to him. He pushed his chair back to allow her to stand in front of him, and she surprised him by lifting her skirts some and straddling his lap and kissing him thoroughly.

"You, Sandor Clegane, have made me happier than I could have ever pictured myself being." she said through the tears that still rolled down her cheeks. He wiped them away for her. "Child or not, please never question my happiness with you, because it is you that I love." Sandor swallowed hard, cradling the back of her head in his hand.

"Yeah." he choked out. "Damnit, little bird." he pressed his forehead to hers and squeezed his eyes shut and she smoothed her hands over both his cheeks. "I love you, too." he kissed her before she could say anything. "I love you so fuckin' much." he kissed her harder this time and swallowed her sobs. Her fingers clutched at his hair until it stung and he stood with her, his muscles shaking with need, with want and desire, holding her tightly to him as he carried her to their bedroom. She held him back just as tightly, her tears wetting his cheeks, mixing with what he suspected might be some of his own.

They undressed each other in silence, hands working against each other in near desperation. He wanted to sturdy the shaking of his own, to be stronger, but he couldn't be. Not against this. Not against her. Not anymore. He took solace in the fact she was shaking just as much as he, and that she seemed just as desperate. Laying her back on the pillows, she hooked her ankles around his back and tried to draw him to her, but he deftly unhooked them and slowly lowered his body, trailing lips and tongue and teeth down her neck and throat, across her chest and breasts, stopping to tease her nipples until she was writhing beneath him, then going lower. He enjoyed the way her stomach tensed and flexed, hallowed and expanded with her breathing and her movement. Pushing her thighs open more, he fit his shoulders between them and went down on her, enthralled by her reaction to it, how she moved, how she nearly screamed, how her entire body shook once she finally came against his mouth.

Crawling back up her, he entered her in one swift thrust, her arms and legs coming up to clutch him just as her body did. Tightly. It was the sweetest thing, being inside of her. And he'd damn near lost her. He was almost certain that it was something more than doc Colemon that had brought her back to him, because it was in those few days when he thought she'd never open her eyes again that he began to beg whatever Being would listen to give her back. That he would do whatever it would take to make her happy as long as he could hold her again, kiss her again. Love her again.

And Sandor Clegane never said anything he didn't mean.

So he held her like he would never hold her again, like he would never let go. He kissed her like it was the last time their lips would ever touch, like he was never going to stop, and he loved her with every ounce of his heart, every bit of his soul. When he came, it was within the heat of her body still pulsing around him, and nothing had ever felt so damned right.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I had no time for editing and I have no patience lol. I'll go over it once I get back from my sons speech therapy later, but for now please excuse any typos/errors!

Sansa wasn't sure there had been a woman in the world as happy as her. Certainly there were times she wanted to smash a frying pan over Sandor's head, and of course there were days when she was happy to see him leave for work just so she could have some time alone. But, altogether she was extremely happy, even if she did vomit almost every morning and her breasts screamed in reluctance when she wore a corset, which she hadn't been wearing the last week. She still hadn't told Sandor her suspicions yet. She'd missed two monthlies so far, but she wanted to miss three just to make sure. Maybe she was just stalling out of fear of his reaction.

She was in town one afternoon, picking up a few things from the grocer, when she ran into Jeyne Poole for the first time outside of church, where the other lady avoided her like a catchable disease. Sandor had told her what had happened, who had been the one to turn her in, so she had no questions on why there was the avoidance.

"Jeyne." Sansa greeted her before she had time to flee. Jeyne looked like a mouse caught in by a cat.

"Oh, Sansa." she smiled weakly. "How are you?" she didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Fine, and you?"

"I'm well, thank you." Jeyne glanced at the door. "Running a little late, actually. I should get going." she started to move around Sansa, but she reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Hang on just a second, Jeyne." Jeyne froze, her eyes going wide and panicked. Sansa had a brief moment of naughty joy at the realization that Jeyne thought Sansa meant to hurt her.

"Sansa, please, I..."

"Jeyne, I just wanted to tell you that all is well." Sansa released her arm and Jeyne met her gaze with a confused look. "I do believe you were only trying to help, and so I don't hold any grudges. But just know I love my husband dearly. Very, very dearly." Jeyne swallowed hard and blushed brightly.

"Of course. I'm so sorry." Sansa smiled at her, pleased that she could now put that behind her. Finishing up her shopping at the grocer, she headed to the butcher to pick up some bacon.

"Mrs. Clegane!" Sansa turned towards her name, still somewhat unused to the surname, to see deputy Martell jogging towards her. "Hold up." Pulling her hand off the door handle, she stepped out of the butchers doorway and waited for him, curious.

"Deputy Martell." she smiled at him once he reached her. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine." he assured her. "Ands it's Oberyn, I've told you."

"Then you must stop calling me Mrs. Clegane. It's Sansa."

"Fair enough." he nodded, casting a glance back at the butchers before looking back at her. Sansa furrowed in brow.

"What is it, Oberyn?" she asked.

"Nothin', just...maybe you should leave the meat shoppin' to Sandor for the time bein'."

"What?" Sansa propped her hands on her hips. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just...well maybe I shouldn't be tellin' you this if Sandor hasn't said nothin'."

"Oh, you will tell me, deputy, and you will tell me right now." Sansa said firmly. "And then my husband will also explain once I see him again."

"Now just calm down, Sansa." Oberyn chuckled. "Don't want you too excited in your condition." Sansa felt the blood drain from her face and her hands fall from her hips.

"How do you know?" she whispered harshly, glancing about like they were doing something untoward. Oberyn laughed again.

"Ellaria said somethin'. Guess she's been in the same condition enough times to know the signs."

"Don't say a word to anyone." she poked him in the chest. "Sandor doesn't know yet and I don't want the entire town knowing before he does."

"I ain't tellin' no one. And no one knows 'cept Ellaria and me." he glanced at her waist and lifted a brow. "But if you keep forgoing your corset I can tell you, men in this town will notice." Sansa blushed furiously and slapped his shoulder, which only made him laugh harder.

"Stop trying to distract me." she warned him. "Why is it that I can't go into the butcher? What's happened?"

"I take it you ain't seen Ramsay Bolton around lately, have you?"

"No, actually." Sansa realized, now that she thought about it. He hadn't been with Jeyne at church last Sunday. "Right, well, let's just say your husband had a talkin' with him about mindin' his own business. One that Bolton wont likely forget for some time to come."

"Oh, that fool man." Sansa huffed. "How could he do that? Risk getting himself in jail over something thats already happened."

"Oh, don't worry none about that." Oberyn laughed. "He made sure Ramsay was the first to throw a punch. After that, Sandor was within his rights to fight back. Anyway, I don't think he'd try and pull nothin' on you, especially considerin' he'd have Sandor to face again if he did, but I'd still steer clear of there for a while. Let Sandor do the meat shoppin' for now." Once she assured Oberyn she wouldn't go into the butchers, she went to leave, but not before risking a peak through the window. The curtians weren't pulled all the way and Sansa could just see inside, and gasped out loud when she caught a glimpse of Ramsay. It was just a fleeting glance, for he was moving, but it was enough. Both his eyes were blackened, his nose swollen, and one of his cheek bones had a gash across it. Knowing she should be horrified by her husbands actions, Sansa tried her best to stiffle her smile.

At home that evening, she made Sandor's favorite meal of chili and cornbread. He was an easy man to please, and her cooking skills were getting better, especially now that she was cooking in her new kitchen in their new house. He came in just as she was pulling the cornbread from the oven.

"Evenin'." he came up behind her and kissed the side of her neck, giving her bottom a squeeze as he did. "That smells good."

"It's ready whenever you are."

"Let me wash up first." he kissed her cheek this time before pulling away to wash up and Sansa dished out their food.

"I talked to Oberyn today." she told him once they were eating.

"Oh, yeah?" he sounded distracted, totally focused on eating his food.

"I was in town, fixing to go into the butchers to pick up some bacon." she waited for his reaction, but he didn't give her one other then glanceing over at her as he shoved a spoonful of food in his mouth. "He stopped me, said I should leave the meat shopping to you for a while." she paused, waited for him to fill in the question she didn't ask.

"Might be a good idea." he went back to eating and Sansa sighed.

"I seen Ramsay's face, Sandor." Now Sandor sat down his spoon, his eyes hardening.

"He say somethin' to you?" his voice was cold, and just as hard as his eyes.

"No, I didn't go in. But, Sandor, why did you do that to him?"

"He tried to take you from me." Sandor said evenly, his voice still cold and hard. "And that damn near got you killed. All I was doin' was gonna talk to him, I swear it. Tell him that he could mind his own fuckin' business from here on out. He said some things, Sansa, things no man should say about a lady." he was apparently finished talking and picked up his spoon, then added as an after thought, "Especially to the ladies husband. I won't stand for someone talkin' that way about you." And then he was done, starting to eat again. Sansa sat in shock for a moment. She thought to ask what it was Ramsay had said, but figured she probably didn't want to hear it, and that Sandor likely wouldn't repeat it to her anyway.

"I have something I want to ask you." Sansa said few moments later.

"I ain't repeatin' what he said." Sandor said without looking up and Sansa smiled.

"It's not that." she assured him. "I was just curious, you said you made our bed." he looked up at her at that, his one brow lifted in confusion.

"Yeah?"

"It's lovely." It was. The wood rails perfectly craved and detailed. He helped in building this house as well, and had proved a very talented carpenter. "You're very talented."

"That's not a question, little bird." he mumbled, and Sansa thought she might have seen a faint blush on his unscarred cheek. Sandor didn't do compliments well.

"You're right." she grinned. "I was wondering if you could make a cradle."

"Sure I could." he shrugged, picking up a piece of cornbread and buttering it. Sansa watched him with a grin. He hadn't gotten her subtle announcement.

"Could you have it done in, say, six months or so?" Sandor sat the butter knife down and shot Sansa a confused look.

"Cradles aren't that big. Wouldn't take long to make one, I wouldn't think." Now Sansa did laugh. Sandor still wasn't getting it.

"Sandor, darling, we're going to need one. In around six months I should say." Sandor fell silent, moving slowly as he sat the cornbread in his hand down.

"You mean," he swallowed hard. "You sayin' you're pregnant?" Sansa smiled at his paling complexion.

"Almost three months by my estimate." she told him, then her smile fell. "This is alright, isn't it? I mean, we...you've been, um, releasing inside of me now for months. I thought you were ready. You wanted this, didn't you?" Sansa heard her voice shaking by the end of her sentence but was unaware the tears were falling until Sandor came to kneel before her, his fingers wiping them away.

"Of course I wanted this." he said, his voice a little hoarse. "I told you I wanted this with you, but the hell if I was ready for it." he chuckled in self deprication and Sansa laughed with him. For all her wanting of a baby, she was just as nervous and unprepared feeling as him.

"You're going to be a wonderful father, Sandor." she told him.

"No." he shook his head. "I'm gonna be a shit father, and I'm gonna fuck up. But it ain't gonna matter none. Not when this baby has a momma as good as you."

"Oh, Sandor." she cried, pulling his face up to hers to kiss him. "You're wrong. I know you are." she pulled back so she could look into his eyes. "But just because your going to be a good father doesn't mean you're not going to mess up sometimes. I know I will. My parents were lovely and wonderful and just the best, but they both messed up. On several occasions, actually. That's not what being a good parent means, Sandor. Loving your child, doing what's best for them and protecting them is what makes a good parent. We will both make mistakes, we'll both mess up, and at some point or another we'll both think we're the worst parents in the world. But we wont be." she kissed his nose. "Together we will love this child, care for it and protect it and it'll grow up into a wonderful person. Just like their father." Sandor leaned forward this time, grasping the back of her neck and kissing her. Sansa let herself get lost in it, but eventually pulled back when she felt his hands gathering her skirts and sliding up her thighs.

"Oh, no." she laughed, catching his wrists. "I don't think so."

"Can we not now?"

"No, we can't." she laughed again at his crestfallen face. "But not because of the baby." at his confused face Sansa smoothed her hands through his hair.

"I need a bath before anything like that happens between us." Now a grin pulled at his mouth.

"Right. But we still can and it wont hurt the baby?"

"We still can." she assured him. "At least until towards the end." From what Ellaria had said in conversation in the past, she and Oberyn had still had intimacies right up until delivery. Lollys was currently about seven months along, but she hadn't said either way and Sansa wasn't going to ask. That sort of question just wasn't proper.

Sandor built a bathroom in the new house, with a stationary tub made of enameled porcelain like the one in Winterfell. It was lovely, and much easier than hauling in and out the old tin one.

After cleaning up supper, Sansa treated herself to a hot bath with lemon scented salts that Margaery had given her. With her head tilted back and her body relaxed, she heard the door open, then click shut and tried to suppress a smile when she opened her eyes to find Sandor leaning back against the door with his arms crossed.

"Do you need something, husband?" she asked.

"You could say as much." he grinned, pushing off the door and pulling his shirt off, leaving him in just his pants and socks.

"This tub isn't big enough for both of us." she told him with a giggle as he crossed the small room to her.

"That tub is barely big enough for me." he agreed, then went to his knees beside it, leaning his forearm against the edge and dropping his other hand into the water to rub her belly, which was still flat. With his cheek laying against the edge of the tub, he looked down into the water at his hand, which she covered with both of hers.

"Soon it will be big and swollen." she sighed. "Do you think it will bother you?"

"What?" he asked, his hand rubbing slow circles on her skin, causing the water to slosh about a little and her inner muscles to tighten.

"When my body changes, will it be bothersome for you?"

"You have a fuckin' gorgeous body that damn near brings me to my knees each time I look at you." he skimmed his hand upwards as he spoke, running his rough palm over her breasts, which were far more sensitive now then they'd ever been before. "But it ain't your body that makes me want you, little bird." his hand moved further up to cup her throat gently. "That's you, girl. And there ain't a damn thing that pregnancy can do to you that will change that."

"Sandor." Sansa whispered his name, tears in her eyes. She'd cried so much these last few months.

"Let me love you, little bird." he grasped the back of her neck with his other arm, letting the hand that rested on her throat trail back down to her breasts as he pulled her up to him for a kiss. It felt decadent to let him touch her and pleasure her while resting in a warm bath, and she luxuriated in it. He didn't seem in any hurry, and she was glad for it. She was enjoying his touch, enjoying the slow build and the teasing touches. Every inch of her skin was tingling from his touch from her scalp where he gently washed her hair to the tips of her toes where he massaged her feet with the perfect amount of pressure, and everywhere in between.

"Sandor." she moaned his name, now growing desperate for him to finally touch her where she ached for him. "Please."

"Please what, Sansa?" he leaned in and nipped her ear.

"Please, Sandor, I hurt." she gripped his wrist and tried to force his hand that rested on her lower belly now to go lower. Sandor groaned loudly and let her guide his hand between her thighs.

"Show me." he growled. "Show me where you hurt." Beyond caring if it was proper or not, Sansa cupped her hand over the top of his and curved her fingers around his as she pushed them lower until they were over the point of pleasure, her clit he'd told her once, and she made him press down on it by pressing against his fingers. It seemed more sensitve then ever before, and maybe that was something to do with being pregnant, or maybe she just really wanted him right now, but either way she gasped loudly, her back bowing out of the water as she moved his fingers in circles against her.

"Damnit, Sansa." he leaned over the side of the tub to suck one of her nipples in his mouth and she nearly screamed. She let go of his hand to grasp hold of the sides of the tub. Thankfully he didn't stop. He worked her over even more, doing a far better job then she ever could have managed, even pressing lower to add a few fingers inside of her, causing her to cry out again. She was moving against him desperatly, uncaring as the water splashed out of the tub and onto him and the floor. And then he added his other hand between her thighs, rubbing her clit with those fingers as his other hand pumped in and out of her and then he grasped the little nub and pinched it lightly, or maybe it wasn't lightly. It shot searing pleasure that so closely boardered on pain that Sansa wasn't sure if she was crying for him to stop or to keep going. He didn't stop, though, and for that she was happy because the climax was intense and amazing and if he hadn't been there, lifting her from the tub afterwards, she was sure she would have just floated down to the bottom of the tub and drowned.

After he'd made love to her in the bed, which they had to get out of afterwards to change the sheets since she'd still been soaked when he'd tossed her on it, she lay on her back still naked with his head laying on her abdomen, one large hand cupping her lower belly.

"Is it moving yet?" he asked.

"I don't feel anything just yet." she said, eyes heavy as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Aren't you scared, for when it comes?"

"You mean the labor and delivery?" She thought she felt him shudder against her.

"Yeah."

"I suppose so." she shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it, really."

"I heard a woman have a baby once." he said softly.

"You did?" her eyes popped open in surprise.

"An Arapaho woman when I was stayin' with the tribe." Sandor rubbed his cheek against her belly as he spoke. "Could hear her screamin' from where I was stayin'. Scared the shit out of me. Sounded like someone was tearin' her apart. Then everthin' went real quite late that night. Seen her the next mornin', walkin' around holdin' this little squallin' bundle, smilin' like nothin' had happened." He shifted until he was propped on his elbows next to her head.

"Make me a promise, little bird, and I'll make you one."

"Alright." she smiled and kissed his chin.

"I'll go to church with you every Sunday from now until the day I die, but you gotta promise me you won't leave me alone on the birthin' bed." Sansa knew what he was asking her. He was scared she would die during childbirth and leave him alone. And it broke her heart. She knew it wasn't a promise she couldn't honestly make, since it was really out of her hands, but she held his face in her hands and looked deep into those wild grey eyes of his.

"I swear it to you, Sandor Clegane, I'm not going anywhere." And if there was anything Sansa had taken from Sandor in the months of being together, it was that she never said anything she didn't mean.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I just picture Oberyn and Ellaria with a boatload of kids. Like, they can't keep off each other so they just keep reproducing lol. 
> 
> Just a little FYI, this will be the last chapter.

There were things about childbirth that Sandor didn't understand, that he probably never wanted to understand, but he hadn't realized that labor would last so long. Sansa had told him before that Ellaria had told her that the first time could last a very long time, and Bronn had told him that Lollys had been in labor for close to a full day with baby Ty two months back. But his poor little bird had to endure it for over two.

And she'd been amazing. Covered in sweat and making noises he'd only ever heard animals make before, but she was amazing. He'd never realized just how strong Sansa was until those last few hours. He had no idea where she got the strength to keep going, but she did. Margaery, being the only midwife in town, had been with them and Sandor was glad for it because he had no fucking clue what to do. Margaery kept trying to make him leave, but there was no way in hell he was leaving Sansa, not when she was working so hard for something that was ultimately half his. So he sat behind her, gave her his hands as leverage, and encouraged her all he could.

It was terrifying and overwhelming and bloody and intense and Sandor swore he almost passed out several times, but then Margaery was lifting the tiny screaming little thing from between Sansa's thighs and Sansa was taking it from her, holding the bloody mess to her chest and sobbing with joy. And Sandor almost sobbed with her. He looked over his wife's shoulder at the now silent baby, dark auburn hair and startling grey eyes seemingly staring right back at him. What he felt in that moment had been similar to what he'd felt for Sansa in those first few months, only it happened in a second.

"It's a boy." Margaery had told them. Sandor was now a father, to a boy. A living thing that now forever linked him to this wonderful, sweet, beautiful woman that sat between his legs. It was wonderful and shocking, but not nearly as shocking as what Margaery has said next.

"There's another." So Sansa had laid the boy on the mattress next to them carefully as she went back to work, not an ounce of panic in her. Sandor felt panicked. How could she do this twice? How had this tiny bit of a girl carried two babies? How was he going to care for two when he'd been unsure of one? He'd only built one cradle. This time Sansa's cry was drowned out by the high pitched wail of the tiniest thing Sandor had ever seen. Sandor helped Sansa lay back against his chest and arrange one baby in each arm.

"A girl." Margaery had said. One boy. One girl. A son and a daughter.

That was hours past. Margaery had gone now, leaving the new family to rest. Sandor was laying on one side of the bed on his side, Sansa on the other, each facing each other, the babies resting between them. None of them slept, but then Sandor didn't think the adrenaline had faded just yet. The girl was closest to him. He could tell because she was much smaller than her brother, and had her mothers red hair and bright blue eyes. Her tiny fist clutched tightly to one of his fingers, not quite able to reach all the way around.

"They'll need names." Sansa told him with a sigh. He looked over at her and smiled. He was so damned proud of her.

"You've any ideas?" he asked her. He didn't have a clue about giving children names.

"I've thought a lot about it." she laughed. "But I didn't think I'd be naming two." Sandor laughed too, his chest aching as he watched his son curl into Sansa's side as he nursed.

"For a boy I thought about naming him after my father, but then I thought of naming him after Jory since he saved my life twice and yours once. So, what do you think about combining the two and naming him Jed?"

"It's a good name." Sandor nodded. "Jed Umber Clegane. Jon gave me my life back, and died tryin' to save you." Sansa's eyes watered, but she sniffed and nodded, then glanced at the little girl now tugging at his chest hair.

"What about her?" she smiled a proud little smile that Sandor had never seen before. "Would you like to name her after your mother?" Sandor looked down at his daughter and thought of his mother, something he didn't do often. Jane was a kind woman, the only person in his life before Sansa who'd shown him love.

"Sure. We'll name her after both our mommas. Jane Catelyn."

_2 years later_

Sansa sat on the back porch with Lollys and a very pregnant Margaery, watching the backyard as Jed and Jane ran around with Ty. Lollys was nursing their new baby girl, Lilly. And Sansa had yet to tell anyone her suspicions of her own condition. Sandor had only recently been spending himself inside of her again. He'd said he didn't want her overwhelmed, and Sansa couldn't help but agree. But she was ready.

"I can't believe you talked Jaime into movin' here." Sansa said to Margaery as they sipped their tea. Margaery and Jaime had met on one of Jaime's visits to Bronn and had fallen madly in love and had married within the month. Much to everyone's surprise, Margaery had managed to convince Jaime to leave the big city and move to Bilson.

"I can be very persuasive." Margaery smiled coyly. Jaime had began working with Bronn and Sandor, much to Sandor's dismay, but the ranch was growing leaps and bounds and they needed all the help they could get. Especially someone with the legal and financial knowhow that Jaime had. She and Sandor had several fights because of it. Sandor insisted Jaime wanted her, and Sansa insisted he didn't, and even if he did it wouldn't matter either way. Eventually Sandor seen just how much Jaime loved Margaery and that he was that sort of a flirt with everyone and had let up.

They spent most of their Sunday evenings after church like this now. Supper's with friends, letting the kids play together. Sometimes Oberyn and Ellaria would join them, but Ellaria had just given birth to their sixth child three days past. The men were all in the barn, looking over a new bull that had just come in. Sansa glanced up to see them making their way back towards the house. Ty seen his father first, and took off in a sprint towards Bronn, who scooped him up easily with one arm and tossed him over his shoulder with a grin. Jed and Jane were somewhat slower, but Sandor helped by running towards them to meet them. He easily scooped Jane up to rest on his hip while he lifted Jed with one hand in the air above his head, causing the boy to squeal in frightened delight.

"He's good with the kids." Margaery said, obviously having watched what Sansa was watching. Sansa glanced over at her, her feathers ruffling, but she didn't see any menace on the other womans face. It angered Sansa beyond anything else that everyone just assumed Sandor would be a cruel father, and it was a big annoyance for her when others seemed surprised when he wasn't.

"He's a wonderful father." And he was. When the twins were infants and still getting up at all times in the night to nurse, he would get up with her. Sansa had told him time and time again it wasn't necessary. He couldn't feed them after all. But he continued to do it. He would change their diapers before handing them off to her to be fed, then would held rock one while she did the other until they were back to sleep. He never shied away from anything that they required. And now that they're older he made sure to take time to play with them and even read them a story every night before bedtime.

"Jaime worries he won't be a good father." Margaery said softly. Both Sansa and Lollys snapped their heads around to her. Jaime was so self confident. It was a shock to hear that he had any self doubt about anything.

"Bronn did as well." Lollys said. "Still does, actually, even though he's wonderful and little Ty worships his daddy." Sansa smiled and glanced out at the yard, where Jaime was leaned into Sandor's shoulder, saying something to Jane that had her giggling uncontrollably. So it wasn't just Sandor. Apparently most men worried about their abilities to be good fathers.

"I think it's the worrying that makes them good fathers." Sansa told them.

"What are you hens up here peckin' about?" Bronn asked as they came up the steps.

"Just mothering talk." Lollys smiled at him and Bronn smiled back at her, a sweet smile full of fondness. He dropped Ty to the ground and leaned down to kiss his wife and Sansa could help but smile. She thought that maybe Bronn was starting to love his wife the way she loved him.

"You do motherin' well." he kissed Lilly's head. "And other things, too." he winked and Lollys blushed smacking his shoulder.

Both Jane and Jed fell asleep after supper and Sandor had his arms full with a box of vegetables from Lollys' garden, so Jaime helped by carrying Jed out to the wagon for them. The ride back to their house was short, since they lived just a few miles down the road. Once they got there, Sandor carried Jed and Sansa carried Jane and together they put them to bed before going to bed themselves.

"Do you think Bronn loves Lollys?" Sansa asked once they were laying down together.

"I think that's not my business." Sandor sighed, pulling her to him.

"Yes, I know." Sansa curled into him, breathing him in. "I just hope he does. Because she loves him so much." Sandor chuckled, hooking an arm around her waist and rolling until she was spread out on top of him.

"Sweet Sansa." he kissed her. "Bronn loves her enough that he don't go runnin' around on her. That says a lot for a man like Bronn, so rest your pretty little head."

"You mean he doesn't go to the whores at the saloon?" Sansa asked. She knew some men did. A lot of men did, actually. Heck, she even knew that Oberyn and Ellaria went together sometimes. She didn't know if Bronn was one of those men or not.

"No whores." he started kissing down her neck and Sansa momentarily forgot what they were speaking of.

"Hang on a second." she breathed when he was working her nightdress up and over her hips.

"Why?" he asked, nipping the side of her neck. "Jed or Jane might come runnin' in here any second. And I want my wife."

"Yes, and I want you." she chuckled, then moaned when he dug his hands under her nightdress and cupped her bare breasts. "But there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"In the mornin'." he said against her mouth, then he was kissing her and Sansa went with it. He was right. Jed or Jane often ended up in their bed at night, either from a bad dream or simply wanting to be close to their momma and pa.

The next morning after breakfast, Sansa sent the twins to the living room to play so she could talk to Sandor before he left for work.

"Sandor, what I wanted to talk to you about last night."

"Oh, yeah." He was pulling on his coat, the weather turning cold.

"Could you at least stop and look at me, please?" Sandor stopped in the action of doing his buttons and faced her.

"What is it?" he asked, instantly concerned. Sansa smiled and kissed him.

"I haven't had a monthly in four months now."

"What?" he asked quickly, too quickly. Sansa knew he understood.

"I'm pregnant again, Sandor." she smiled and slowly he did too.

"Christ, woman." he kissed her hard. "You better not have twins again."

"Let's hope not." she laughed in agreement. She loved the twins, but it was hard work.

"You're not gonna turn into Ellaria, are you?" he asked cautiously, pulling her in for a hug. "Turnin' out a babe one right after the other."

"It's been two years, Sandor." she shoved him playfully. "That's hardly one right after the other. But no. I don't think I want as many kids as Oberyn and Ellaria. I think this one will probably be it." She knew that couldn't be guaranteed, but Margaery has told her of a device called a diaphragm that she can use to prevent pregnancy without Sandor having to pull out.

"Good." he kissed her again, softer and slower this time. "Not that I don't love our kids, but I gotta tell you, little bird, that labor shit scares the hell out of me."

"It worked out fine last time." she reminded him. "And it'll work out just fine this time." she stepped back to finish buttoning up his jacket. "Now, go to work."

"Yes, ma'am." he grinned and then smacked her rear before going into the living room to tell the children goodbye. Sansa followed him, then opened the front window curtains so they could stand in the window and wave at him as he rode off towards the ranch as they did every morning.

It was a good life she had. One she hadn't thought she wanted. Not with a notorious outlaw. Not in this tiny town of Bilson. Not without her parents. But watching Sandor ride away on Stranger, turning back to wave, seeing both Jed and Jane bouncing and yelling their goodbyes as they waved enthusiastically back, Sansa decided she wouldn't change it for the world. And she knew her parents would be proud of her. That they were some where now watching her, and their grandchildren, with a smile on their faces. And that was all she'd ever wanted. To be happy and her parents to be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it ladies and gents. The whole shebang. Thanks for following! Thanks for all the kudos and all the comments! I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you all enjoyed reading it!


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